


loose me from hard care (and all my heart cares to accomplish)

by gaydarwilliams (millbot)



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Rome, Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Injury, Eventual Sex, F/F, Femslash, Gladiator AU, Pict!Lexa, Roman!Clarke, dubcon because gladiators are technically slaves so we're dealing with that as best we can
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-30
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2018-07-19 06:12:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 69,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7348288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/millbot/pseuds/gaydarwilliams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The gladiator/ancient Rome "The 100" AU no one asked for.</p><p>Clarke/Claudia is the Domina of the most prominent gladiator training school in Rome. Lexa/Livia is a captured Pictish warrior who finds herself thrust into the center of the city's most popular spectacle. Attraction, distrust, anger, betrayal, bloodshed, and lust all play out as the two find themselves entangled in the harsh political and social realities of Ancient Rome - and each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fait Accompli

**Author's Note:**

> Shouting into the void with this one (writing because I just wanted to do it) - but please absolutely let me know with kudos and/or comments if this is something you'd like to see me continue writing. Open to suggestions for plot points you'd like to see, etc. Trying to be somewhat historically accurate but obviously not going to be religious about it. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> P.S. Clarke/Claudia's rule about no-sex-with-slaves would have been extremely unusual (unfortunately) for an actual Roman noblewoman who was interested in them at all. I also realize that if/when sex happens at all with the slave/master dynamic still in play, or even just an upper class/freedwoman dynamic, consent is, technically, extremely dubious. None of this is ideal, but it reflects the reality of the times. If this is at all troubling/triggering for you, please do not read beyond this chapter.
> 
> P.P.S. The title of this fic is taken from a poem by Sappho, because of course it is.

It is a buying day. 

Dawn breaks clear and cool, but almost immediately the sun begins to bake the dusty, dry earth and it's obvious that today will be just as hot as the last. There hasn't been rain in weeks and everyone in the house seems to be restless and temperamental because of it.

But today is a buying day and she can feel the knot of almost nervous excitement in the pit of her stomach as her servants help her dress and braid her long, blonde hair. Claudia Gratidius never bothers herself much with the day-to-day operations of the ludus, busy enough with running the household itself, but buying days are different. This is where she takes an interest because it is where she shines. Her husband, Marcus, knows. He encourages her participation in the choosing, trusts her judgment implicitly. She has yet to lead them astray.

She eats a light breakfast of fruit, the air already too hot for much of an appetite, and then finds her husband waiting for her at the gates. A small compliment of household guards escort them into the hustling city center outside the walls of their compound. Behind them, the towering walls of the Colosseo cast long shadows over the bustling masses, merchants hawking their wares, senators on their way to the halls of government, beggars, pickpocket children, performers, and travelers who gawk at the marvel that is the forum.

Claudia loves and hates the chaos of the city, the great sea of people, the constant thrum of activity. There are days she wishes she might return to her childhood home in the country, with its vast fields of wheat and sprawling vineyards—its quiet and calm. And there are days when she feels positively alive with the energy of the city and the role she plays in it. Today is the latter, because today holds possibility. The seller may bring them nothing of interest, and he may bring them something that could win them even greater fame and fortune. Buying days are always a roll of the dice, and Claudia finds it thrilling.

They arrive at the marketplace just as the seller is lining up the new arrivals for inspection. There are several other potential buyers in attendance already, but she and Marcus will get first pick. The Ludus Magnus always commands the greatest respect, supplying, as it does, the gladiators who compete and perform in headlining matches at the Colosseo. The other men who await today's presentation are from lesser houses, lesser schools, the ones that turn out fighters who function mostly as grist for the mill in the great spectacles. They all vie for more, of course, and are forever scheming behind their backs, seeking favor from the emperor or even just the right nobleman. But the house of Gratidius stands strong, thanks in part to the name itself but also because both she and Marcus are rather good at playing politics. 

She'd never wanted to marry him, of course, but she was young and hardly knew the man. In the four years they've been together, Claudia has developed a deep respect for her husband. He is intelligent and cunning, but most of all he actually demonstrates respect for her own mind and body—something she'd never been taught to expect from a husband (or any man). They'd learned much about one another over time and discovered they had more in common than not, and they had an understanding. She was grateful. It afforded her a certain level of freedom that most of the other noblewomen she knew simply did not have.

The seller is a very tall, very pale man by the name of Severus, who stands now under a shade awning held in place by two of his own servants. He gives a small flick of his wrist and it prompts his guards to usher in a line of men who are all connected by heavy, clanking chains.

It is, as usual, a sight that causes the blood to stir in Claudia's veins. The men Severus brings come from all over the known world, skins in all possible shades of cream and brown and black. Pale skin covered in swirling patterns of blue ink. Skin dark as night and gleaming under the rays of the sun. Here and there scars, some won in battle and some intentionally given. A few men are scrawny and hallow-eyed. Others are well muscled and defiant. There are mostly brown eyes and black, but sometimes she comes across blue like her own, gray like stone, or green like forests. 

Claudia strolls slowly down the line, just a breath away from each man, silently and confidently appraising each one without pausing. Several of them keep their eyes downcast, and she passes them more quickly. She's seeking out the ones with fire left in them, even if it's defiance. Especially if it's defiance. There's more power in the act of breaking them in, rather than blind and immediate obedience. 

She's already picked out two men by the time she's nearly finished walking the line—one an absolute brute of a specimen, probably a Gaul by the looks of him, and the other a smaller but tightly muscled, black skinned man, likely an Axumite (though how the seller had managed that, she would be very curious to know). 

Finally, Claudia arrived at the last figure – and had to stop herself and blink for a moment, making sure she was seeing correctly. There stood a lithe but commanding figure, fine muscles covered in intricately designed black tattoos, deep green eyes flashing angrily as she came to stand directly in front of them. 

A woman.

It didn't make any sense, but the truth was unmistakable. Severus had her dressed the same as the men in line—in cloth breeches and nothing else but a layer of oil that made her tanned skin shine and highlighted every curve and plane—so though they were relatively small in size, the presence of lovely, round breasts was very clear. Of course, even with all the muscles, the rest of her body and face were a dead giveaway as well. Claudia felt an uneasy tension build at the base of her stomach as she appraised her—and seemed to be appraised in return, without hesitation. The woman had plush lips and high, well defined cheek bones that made her look altogether lofty. Maybe a captured noble from some northern tribe? The ink marked on her skin created patterns unlike much of anything she'd seen before. The woman's hair was chestnut in color, curly, but pulled back into a series of tight, intricate braids that put her proud facial features into even more stark relief. 

Claudia catches herself staring directly into the woman's steady gaze and has to shake her head lightly and take a step back to break the spell.

“Severus, explain this,” she says sharply, pointing her chin at the woman. The seller wanders over to her, his servants following so as to keep him covered by the awning. Claudia is glad when the shade extends to cover her as well. The hot sun had suddenly become far more oppressive on her exposed shoulders. In her head. Throughout her limbs.

“Ah,” the man breathes, “I call her Livia. A savage Pict from the lands north of the wall. Quite the prize. I know it may seem unusual, but I had you in mind, Claudia, when I selected her.” She raises a questioning eyebrow at him over the comment. Severus raises a hand, palm out, in a placating gesture. “You are always telling me you want something new, something people have not seen before.”

“She fights?” Claudia asks, incredulous. Although, just looking at the woman, the way she's built, the way she holds herself and the way she's been staring directly at Claudia without flinching, all of it screams warrior.

Severus chuckles. “She fights. I'm told she slew an entire contubernium single handed before she was taken. And she has tried to escape several times while in transport, killing several more men in the process. It has taken considerable resources to bring her to you, but as I am ever your eager servant, I believe it well worth the trouble. And I believe you will, too.”

Her interest is officially piqued, if the increase in her heart rate is anything to go by. Claudia feels blood rushing to all sorts of places in her body, her mind racing with possibilities. It would take considerable political wrangling just to get permission to put a woman into the fights, but if this Livia is everything Severus says she is, Claudia can see creating a very profitable sensation that might stand a chance of convincing the people in charge to let it happen.

The idea of watching this woman molded to the will and purpose of the ludus—her will—holds no small thrill as well, if she's being perfectly honest with herself.

In the end, Claudia decides to take all three – the two men and one woman – haggling out a large but fair sum to be paid to Severus for his service and then taking her leave.

Marcus had hung back throughout the negotiations but now walks at her side as they return to the ludus.

“A woman, my love?” he asks, skepticism and amusement evident in his tone. Claudia purses her lips and lets a smile touch her eyes. “I hope you've thought this through.”

“Are we jealous, husband?”

Marcus laughs, his dark brown eyes sparkling, and she delights in the sound. “Positively seething,” he jokes. “But mostly I'm wondering where we'll keep her, and what chance we have of ever getting her into the fights.”

“We have the spare room, Marcus, we can keep her there,” Claudia suggests. “And I have the utmost confidence in your powers of persuasion when it comes to the matchmakers.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” Marcus agrees, gently grasping one of her hands and raising it to his lips for a light kiss. She rewards him with a warm smile.

They spend the rest of the walk back in companionable silence, and though she never turns to look, Claudia is fairly certain she can feel green eyes boring into the back of her head the entire way.

~*~

It is night before she sees the woman again. Day had been busy with making arrangements for the new arrivals but Claudia's role is to give orders to the servants, who see that the new men are set up with beds in the gladiator's hall that opens onto the training grounds themselves, and to the master trainer, Cassius, who runs them through an orientation of sorts. The woman, Livia, is given a small, private room on the opposite side of the compound from the main gladiator quarters, but that also opens onto the training grounds. It seems safer to segregate her somewhat from the men, who can scarcely be trusted not to have sex with one another, let alone not to try to force it on her as well. Claudia spent a great deal on acquiring her and is not keen to see her pregnant or beaten dumb.

The idea, in fact, causes a startling amount of rage to boil in her gut.

She makes the rounds to check on the men, ensures that her face is seen, that they know she is not afraid of them. And then she makes her way to the room on the other side, where she can see the flicker of candlelight behind a rough spun cloth that hangs over the doorway. A single guard stands sentry outside, and he nods in respect as she passes.

Claudia does not announce herself – this is her home, after all, she can go where she pleases and when she pleases. Instead she simply pushes the cloth aside and steps into the narrow space within, almost immediately coming face to face with Livia. 

It's like she was waiting for her. The woman stands in the middle of the cramped quarters, hands at her sides, unmoving. She's taller than Claudia by a few inches and staring down her nose a little at her now, almost in challenge. Claudia refuses to be intimidated by the display, though, and doesn't step back to relieve the tense closeness. Instead, she meets the steady gaze with her own, and then purposefully allows her eyes to track down along the woman's body, appraising it again as she did earlier in the marketplace.

Livia is somewhat more clothed now (and she's only a little disappointed by that), having been given the standard gladiator's wrap and leather belt, and a makeshift piece of leather chest armor that fastens with a single strap over one shoulder. There are leather bracers as well, tossed aside on the thin bed roll pressed up against the back wall.

When Claudia's eyes eventually drift back up to Livia's face, the woman's nostrils are flared in agitation. Claudia thinks she's never seen a more beautiful person in her life. The thought sends a flood of heat to her core and she swallows hard to refocus herself.

“Do you speak our language?” she asks. The woman narrows her eyes slightly, but there is no recognition there. “Pity. It would be interesting to know more of your story, I think.” When Livia just continues to stand still, hard eyes trained on her, she sighs and continues. “I'll set you up with our tutor. You will need to know the basics in order to be properly trained, anyway.”

She sees the muscles in Livia's jaw bunch and clench, but still there is no flicker of understanding in her eyes. Claudia decides to take a chance and steps a few inches closer still to the woman, their noses now just inches apart. She can't help it when her eyes flick momentarily down to the woman's full lips, and is more than a little satisfied by the responding blush that spreads across Livia's cheeks when she notices. It finally causes the slightest of cracks in the woman's demeanor, as she takes a sharp breath in and steps away quickly, fists clenching at her sides.

Interesting.

Claudia quirks an eyebrow at her and smiles slightly, feeling a little smug. She decides to put the woman out of her misery—for now—and simply nods once before turning on her heel and leaving.

~*~

She usually only watches the new arrivals fight once when they first begin to train—to reaffirm her choices—and then again right before their first public match. She trusts Cassius to train them well, to coax out and highlight their natural aptitudes and turn them into showmen as well. Livia's presence among the ranks of gladiators in training, however, has turned her usual habits entirely on their head. She watches her train every day if she can make the time between her duties as Domina. Having an excuse to step away from overseeing the running of the household, a complicated and demanding line of work in itself, is always welcome. 

The spectacle would be novel on its own, but there's definitely the added bonus of the Pictish woman's rather obscene level of attractiveness and skill. She wields the wooden training gladius with such ease, the weapon looks more like an extension of her arm than a sword. 

Claudia can't help but watch from her shaded spot under the portico. She's doing her best to keep the utterly rapt, hungry expression from her face but isn't entirely sure she's succeeding. She knows she's not, in fact, when her husband appears at her side with a knowing smirk on his lips.

“Like what you see?” he asks, his own eyes trained on the yard as well. Livia is engaged in one-on-one combat with the master trainer, deftly dancing around his strikes and countering with superbly targeted jabs and thrusts of her own. Sweat sheets off her mostly exposed skin, speckling the dirt beneath their feet in dark droplets.

“I see the fortune I'm about to make for you,” she returns, letting her voice dip into its lowest register. Marcus laughs and kisses her on the temple.

“Is that all you see?” he teases gently. She takes a deep breath, smelling the mixture of dirt, sweat, and oil that swirls in the air. “I have meetings all day, my love. I will see you for supper. Please don't forget to eat before then, too.”

She smiles at that. Marcus knows well how her appetite tends to become non-existent when the heat is high like it is, and how it too often results in her becoming dangerously light headed and temperamental. Though their relationship has never been a particularly physical one—Marcus' preferences trend toward the various handsome noblemen who frequent his business meetings—they are attentive of their other needs. 

She should go see to the weaving work for the day, ensure that the women have the materials they need for the clothes that must to be made, and then prepare for the arrival of her usual visit with friends over the noon meal time. Octavia has been a friend since they were both girls, the one who helped her get into as much trouble as possible behind the backs and much to the consternation of their parents. She's now married to a centurion who'd reached the rank of primus pilus, and spent most of his time away from home on campaign with his legion. It leaves Octavia to run their house and mind their accounts, duties which the young woman finds stupefyingly boring and usually pawns off on a handful of trusted servants. Avecita is a more recent acquaintance, a woman of Spanish extraction who only came to the city two years past. Her husband is a prominent merchant who had decided that their fortunes lay in the capitol city. So far, he has only proven mildly successful, which Avecita rightly attributes to his fondness for drink and gambling. It doesn't leave him with much time for actual work. What successes his business has seen are largely thanks to his wife, who resentfully toils behind the scenes. Claudia feels for her. Avecita is whip-smart and driven. Had she been born a man, it would be easy to see her rising quickly to some high position in commerce or the military.

But none of them are men, and so they content themselves to what successes they can eke out behind the curtain of public life, and meet regularly to trade stories, brainstorm ideas, gossip, and complain. Well, Octavia and Avecita are the gossips. Claudia mostly contents herself to listening and offering the occasional course correction, should it be needed. Octavia and Avecita seem to feed off one another, either resulting in a playfully intense battle of wits or, when things get out of hand, actual and sometimes dangerous scheming. Claudia thinks they're secretly in love with one another.

The two women arrive as the sun hits its zenith and Claudia leads them out to the portico, where blankets and plush pillows have been laid out for them to lounge upon. There are plates piled high with clusters of purple grapes, a load of good black bread with olive oil for dipping, and several jugs of fine wine recently imported from the south.

She wants to show off Livia. She knows the sight of the female gladiator will shock but ultimately impress her friends, and she wants to revel in it.

Sure enough, as the three settle in and turn their eyes to the activity on the training ground, Claudia hears a pair of gasps. Claudia takes a moment to appreciate the sight as well, noticing the purple spread of a bruise along the woman's left side that runs from her ribs down to the v of muscle at her hips. It doesn't seem to be effecting her ability to perform, her movements just as fluid and deadly accurate as ever. She's clutching a gladius in either hand now, mirroring a series of poses demonstrated by the master.

“Who or what is that?” Avecita asks first, as all three women continue to watch the action intently. Claudia smiles.

“My newest acquisition. They call her Livia. She comes from the land beyond the wall, a Pict. And she is spectacular.”

Octavia turns to face her, a knowing grin on her face. “They'll never let her fight, you have to know that. So I can only guess the real reason you brought her home was more...personal.”

Claudia glares at her. Avecita swats her playfully on the arm.

“You leave Claudia alone, the poor girl has to look somewhere for her pleasure. Lest you forget, her good husband may have many fine qualities but is somewhat lacking when it comes to the bedroom,” she quips.

“Leave Marcus out of this, Ave,” Claudia states flatly. “And I will see Livia on the main stage, mark my words. She's going to make us a fortune. A spectacle unlike anything the people have ever seen.”

“You seem awfully confident,” Octavia counters. “The masters aren't keen on change. The people aren't keen on change. I hope you're planning a long game, at the very least. This sort of thing will take time.”

“It takes as long as it takes,” she says. 

A moment of silence passes, and then is broken as Octavia smirks and Avecita gives a deep belly laugh. They say nothing more on the topic, however, turning to other pieces of news and intrigues. Claudia is glad for it. The more she watches the woman fight, the more determined she is to get Livia onto the main stage. She wishes the Pict spoke their language so she could get some of her story, spin it into a tale for the masses to add greater depth and appeal to her image. It always helps to lift up their star gladiators in such a way. The people prefer fighters with a good story. But perhaps she can use the mystery to her advantage, especially given how tricky it will likely be to convince the crowd to come over to Livia's side in the first place. No doubt there will be many who would prefer a woman never touch the sands of the Colosseo, let alone triumph there. 

She'll prove them all wrong, though. Make them eat their words. Claudia can't help but keep her eyes trained on the woman as she works, even as Octavia and Ave continue to talk. There's been a fire growing in the pit of her stomach ever since she'd first laid eyes on Livia and began to consider the implications. She has no intention of snuffing it out, even if some of it is being stoked by an undeniable physical attraction to the woman.

The women spend another hour or so in idle talk, enjoying the spectacle of the training grounds and each others' company. As the afternoon grows hotter, however, their attention wanes and eyelids droop. Octavia excuses herself to return to her home for a nap. Avecita resides much further away, so Claudia offers to let her stay the night and the other woman gratefully accepts.

They share dinner with Marcus, who is mostly pleased by the days' business, complaining only briefly about a bureaucratic snag to do with the taxes they pay. Once done, Claudia sees her friend settled in and tended to by the servants, then returns to her own chambers, grateful that the air has finally cooled a bit with the onset of dusk. A light breeze even gently rustles the gauzy curtains that line their bed. They undress is silence and then settle in together, Claudia resting her head on Marcus' bare chest. She is tired but restless, and she knows well the source.

Claudia nuzzles into her husband's neck and slowly presses her lips against his pulse point. Marcus responds with a quiet, sleepy grunt and hugs her closer.

“I am too tired and it is too hot, my love,” he says, not unkindly. Claudia sighs into his shoulder, kisses it lightly, and rolls over onto her side to face the open window. Need clenches in her belly and she squeezes her thighs together, trying to stave off the feeling. It has been too long and she has been staring too much a someone who is, essentially, untouchable. 

They own these warriors, of course. By law she could do whatever she liked with them and they would have no say. But there is one line Claudia has never and will never cross. Much as she enjoys sex, she only wants it if given willingly. She has seen and felt too much the poison of coercion, inflicted by and targeted at both men and women, and wants no part of it. 

It doesn't stop her from feeling an intense attraction toward the Pictish woman. Part of it must be born of fascination and intrigue, certainly, for Claudia has never met nor seen anyone quite like her. Part of it is pure animal lust, she must admit. The ones who are so able with their weapons, so aware of their own bodies and the capabilities therein, have always proven to be especially adept at more carnal pursuits. And they have come willingly to her bed before—the few who have earned their freedom in the pits. 

But this one feels different. She is another woman, for one. Something about that thrills her all the more but also makes her more wary, more protective.

Eventually, the sounds of Marcus' breathing slow and deepen and she knows he is asleep. Tomorrow she will visit the master of the games and begin the campaign to introduce the first woman to the sands. For now, Claudia presses her hand to her middle, seeking out her aching center and giving herself at least some temporary relief. She forces herself to be as quiet and still as she can, and feels stars pop behind her tightly shut eyelids as she comes. She is not surprised when she conjures images of Livia training in the yard to get herself there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary of terms:  
> * primus pilus - senior centurion of a Roman Legion  
> * ludus - a training school, in this case for gladiators  
> * Colosseo - the Coliseum in Rome  
> * gladius - type of short sword specifically used by gladiators  
> * Gaul - modern day France  
> * Axumite - Someone from the Kingdom of Aksum or Axum, also known as the Aksumite Empire, which was a trading nation in the area of Eritrea and Northern Ethiopia from approximately 100–940 CE  
> * contubernium - the smallest organized unit of soldiers in the Roman Army, was composed of eight legionaries, the equivalent of a modern squad  
> * Hispania - modern day Spain  
> * Picts - a tribal confederation of peoples who lived in what is today eastern and northern Scotland during the Late Iron Age and Early Medieval periods, thought by some to have been ethnolinguistically Celtic  
> * "north of the wall" - refers to emperor Hadrian's Wall, erected around 122 CE to mark the northern barrier of the Roman Empire and protect it from "barbarians" (Picts, Celts, etc.)


	2. Preparations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claudia tries to find out more about Livia and her history in preparation for her first test in the arena. Gross men do gross things, better men do better things, and Livia tips her hand just a little bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a lot of Lexa/Livia in this chapter, but trust me when I say you'll be seeing a lot more of her (and Clexa interaction) in the next one and pretty much every one after that. We have to set the stage for some things, first....

“What will it take for you to allow us to place a woman into the fights?”

Claudia cuts to the quick. She and her husband, Marcus, have only just arrived at Decimus' villa, but the master of the games has long come to expect as much from the headstrong woman. The question catches him somewhat off guard, however, and he smiles indulgently at the audacity of it, the expression softening his otherwise sharp features.

They had made the usual small talk, exchanged pleasantries about the state of Decimus' family and fortunes, and found their way to the cozy arcade in the middle of the compound that opened to the bright blue sky above. Food and drink was brought by the household servants, and two couches were readied. Decimus had gratefully lowered his gout-ridden body onto the pillowed surface, sighing as he settled in. Marcus reclined easily in the other, just across a shallow pool from him, with Claudia standing just behind her husband's supine form.

“And what woman would this be, pray tell?” Decimus asks now, keeping his eyes trained on Marcus to gauge his reaction. He's not entirely sure the question isn't in jest, but Marcus just looks serene and content to observe the exchange in silence.

“A savage Pict, from north of the wall, captured and brought here at great expense to us,” Claudia answers confidently. Decimus finally turns his head to face her. “She is a spectacular warrior, one of the best I've ever seen come through our ludus.”

“Is that so?”

“I will attest to it,” Marcus chimes in, his tone bemused. Decimus' black eyes snap back to train on his long time friend.

“Decimus, my lord, can you imagine the spectacle?” Claudia continues, growing more animated as she speaks. “The people will have never seen anything like it. We will create a legend, and both of our houses will know both glory and gold for it.”

“Is that all?” He can't help but ask, and Decimus smirks inwardly when he sees the all-to-brief flinch in her beautiful blue eyes. But Claudia is nothing if not superbly skilled in the art of persuasion, and she quickly schools her expression back into one of cool confidence.

“I'm not asking you to open the games to just anyone,” Claudia says. “Make this exception. I promise it will be worth your while.” Her voice slips into its lowest register, practically a purr, and Decimus can't help but feel his body respond to it with a tingle low in his gut, despite his years. “And have I ever lead you astray?”

“No, my lady, you have not,” he allows, eyes twinkling. “But I'm afraid you ask too much.” He sees her open her mouth to object, but raises a hand to stop her. “Wait. I will not turn you away empty handed. There may be a way.”

“And what would that be?” Marcus asks.

“I have no personal qualms with seeing a woman take to the sands, you understand,” Decimus goes on. “If she is a worthy warrior, and with your recommendation, then she belongs there. But convincing the emperor—or his games advisers, anyway—will likely prove more difficult. They are, as you know, quite keen on tradition and ideas of propriety.”

He sees Claudia's expression darken slightly and knows he has hit a sore point. But it is necessary for him to remind her of her already precarious place in this business. They long ago worked out a deal to keep her direct involvement in the choosing of the fighters at the ludus a secret from everyone else. Decimus had only initially agreed to allow her into their negotiations at Marcus' behest, and that had been born of their years of work together. Decimus trusted Marcus because Marcus had always delivered on his promises and proven trustworthy in all things. Claudia, in turn, had proven to be an incredibly shrewd negotiator, and someone with an incredible eye for seeing the potential in the fighters, in creating the most interesting and thrilling match-ups. Decimus would have counted himself a fool to have turned her away out of some out-dated idea about a woman's place in such matters.

Still, not everyone would agree with him, and it is safer to keep her involvement quiet. And if the master of games suddenly allowed the Ludus Maximus to thrust a woman warrior onto the sands of the Colosseo it would certainly raise more than just a few eyebrows. Another tack had to be taken. Because he _was_ intrigued by the idea, he had to admit.

“What do you want?” Claudia asks, again no fan of talking around a thing.

“I want you to take her out to the provinces first,” he says simply. Claudia's eyes narrow slightly but she says nothing, waiting for him to explain. “Have her fight in the games in the smaller arenas, prove herself worthy, build a name for herself. Build her story. If you can do that, and I like what I hear of it, then I will take your case before the council and we will see her in the main event. Can you do that?”

Marcus looks concerned suddenly. He lifts himself to a seated position on the couch and turns to his wife, reaching out a hand to grasp lightly at her forearm.

“Claudia, this is too much--”

“It will be done,” she cuts him off. Her husband sighs and retracts his hand, pinching his fingers across the bridge of his nose instead.

“My love, I cannot simply travel to the provinces to negotiate fights. I have business here, in Rome, and frankly it is beneath our house to go _back_ to the small games anyway,” Marcus says. Decimus sits back and contents himself with plucking a few purple grapes from a vine, munching them thoughtfully as he waits for the couple to work things out. He's seen this scene play out more than once before, and never ceases to marvel at the way the two match each other so very well. Claudia almost always wins, of course, but in a way that leaves Marcus' pride in tact. Its' no small feat, he knows, though it helps that Marcus has never been an overly proud man.

“Send me, then,” she offers simply, as though it is the most obvious solution in the world. Before Marcus can argue, which he clearly intends to do, she speaks again. “Send me with some of the household guards and a chaperone of your choosing, dear husband, and I promise to be discreet. But I will see it done.”

Decimus knows this battle has been won before it had even really begun, and he smiles knowingly at his friend. Marcus shakes his head, but the corners of his mouth turn up slightly.

“We will have word of her progress sent,” he says, getting to his feet. “In the meantime, you can expect two new fighters for the next games. We have a spectacular Gaul, with the strength of ten men, and an exceptionally skilled Axumite warrior as well.”

Decimus perks up at this news, and heaves himself to a seated position. “I am glad to hear it, Marcus. I will be by to observe them a week hence, and we shall discuss their fates. My lady, I expect I will not see you at that time?”

Claudia allows a sly grin to color her expression. “I expect not, my lord.”

~*~

The next several days are occupied with preparations for her journey, the servants busied with packing her personal items, food for the trip, logistical planning concerning the route to take that will best avoid dangerous areas, and sending word ahead to secure lodging with friends who keep a villa in the city they have chosen for Livia's debut.

Claudia also finds time to pull the training master aside to get a better sense of the woman's particular aptitudes as well as her general attitude. Cassius is an excellent teacher, having served many years in the Roman legions before breaking some law and being sent to fight in the pits. He eventually earned his freedom there by becoming one of the most cunning and ruthless gladiators ever to grace the sands. But it had proven very difficult for him to build any kind of normal life after that, and so he'd returned to the ludus where he'd trained under Marcus' father and was taken on as the head instructor. 

He is lithe and firmly muscled, with a constellation of scars across his deeply tanned flesh. One particularly nasty and mottled scar runs the length of his face from forehead to chin, having miraculously missed his eye, and gives him an even more imposing look that causes more than a few flinching reactions whenever he goes out in public. But Cassius wears all of his marks with pride, or at least indifference. He is focused and firm. Claudia is fairly certain she has never seen him crack a smile.

“She is an excellent fighter,” he explains to his domina when she asks after the Pict. “But she has no interest in spectacle. I do not think the people will accept her.”

Claudia nods. It is about what she expected, given what she herself as seen of the woman over the weeks since her arrival. Her abilities with the short swords are not in doubt. Something will have to be done about her willingness to play the game, however, and give the people a show that will win them over to her side, make them cheer for her as she wins instead of turning her into a villain.

She seeks out the man who travels with the slavers and oversees their acquisitions on the road. Marius is a gruff and hardened ex-soldier, crude in every sense of the word. Claudia hates to deal with him directly, as he makes a point of directing lewd innuendo her way every time, and makes it very clear how he feels about a woman taking any interest in business.

“Domina, what can I and my enormous cock do for you today?” he says by way of greeting. She's found him relaxing in the shade of the tent his master has set up in the marketplace. And though she has two of her body servants in attendance, Marius appears keen on his usual attempts at demeaning and degrading her for her very presence.

“Gird your unruly loins, Marius, and tell me what you know of the Pictish woman your master sold to us,” she says flatly.

“Unhappy with your purchase, domina?” he asks, grinning as he comes to stand in front of her, a little too close. Claudia refuses to give him the pleasure of seeing her retreat, however, and holds her ground, jaw set firmly, nostrils slightly flared in warning.

“I would simply like to know more of her story, if you can spare a moment out of your extraordinarily busy day.”

He purses his lips slightly, annoyed.

“We found the bitch in Brittania, a captive of emperor Hadrian's legions who had sacked her people's lands and villages before heading south again,” he explains. “Guess they decided it wasn't worth even trying to bring those savages to heel. I'm told she killed more than a dozen men before she was taken, and I would believe it. She was a pain in the ass to bring here. Two months on the road with that harpy...” he spat, “constantly trying to escape. Had to sleep with one eye open. Woulda fucked some submission into her, too, if the boss hadn't ordered her returned untouched. And I swear, that gods-be-damned Gaul got all protective of her, too. Wasn't worth my skin at that point.”

Claudia feels a sudden, hot rage boil in her gut and has to clamp it down hard, keeping her expression as neutral as possible. She nods sharply and turns on her heel, putting as much distance between herself and that disgusting man as possible. She hears him laughing as she goes and does her best to ignore it.

That evening, back at the ludus, she seeks out the Gaul in the gladiator's quarters. His name, she learns, is Guidgen and, thankfully, speaks just enough of their language to understand what it is that Claudia seeks.

She had forgotten what an absolute brute of a man he is, tall and broad shouldered, a wiry beard framing his square jaw, and the hair on his head shaved along the sides and pulled back on top into a series of intricate braids. His eyes are intense but not entirely unkind as she speaks to him in the flickering candlelight of the otherwise dim stone room.

“What do you know of Livia? What is her story?” Claudia asks. Guidgen seems to grunt quietly, setting down a piece of leather he had been working into some kind of bracer. He fixes her with a piercing stare before speaking.

  
“You will not break her,” he says simply. Claudia furrows her brow.

“That is not what I asked.”

“No, but you need to know it.”

It is said without challenge, just a fact stated. Claudia feels a weight settle at the base of her stomach but chooses to push on.

“I am not interested in breaking her. I am simply interested in understanding her.”

Guidgen barks a short laugh and Claudia feels herself startle slightly at the unexpected noise.

“Begin by knowing that she understands _you_ ,” he says. There's barely concealed meaning hidden underneath his words and Claudia tries to puzzle it out for a moment, but he goes on before she can. “She is smart. Very smart. Do not underestimate her.”

It's clear that this is all the man has to say to her so Claudia merely nods and then quickly leaves the room.

She has trouble falling asleep that night, her mind preoccupied with thoughts of her impending trip, with what little of Livia's story she's been able to glean, with the ever-present discontent and rage she feels at her place in the world. When she finally does drift off, her dreams are filled with fragmented visions of snarling faces, grasping hands, blood and fire, and flashes of a beautiful woman with a sword cutting through bodies stacked stories high. When Claudia wakes in the morning, she is already sweating.

~*~

As it happens, she receives word that Octavia's husband, Longinus, has returned home from his latest campaign. Claudia decides that this is a good omen and asks Marcus to secure the centurion as the chaperone she needs for the trip. It will also provide a reason for Octavia to accompany her, providing much needed companionship on what promises to be an otherwise exhausting excursion.

Longinus agrees—never content to stay in one place for very long, and happy to combine his love of travel with the opportunity to bring his wife along for once. It seems only right, then, that Claudia also invite Avecita along, knowing that her friend is too often denied the experience of travel by her drunk of a husband—and that both Avecita and Octavia will be all the happier with the other around.

They are all to stay at the villa of her and Marcus' friends, Aemilius Vivianus and his wife, Flavia Vulpes Vivianus, who live on the outskirts of Altinum, a city nestled into a marshy area at the mouth of the river Silis. It is just north of Rome, along the coast, a short journey up the Via Annia.

The night before they are to set out on the journey, Claudia again goes to visit Livia in her chambers. She finds the woman kneeling on the stone floor at the side of her meager bedroll, seemingly lost in contemplation or prayer, her eyes closed, face relaxed. The light of a single candle casts dancing shadows across her features, making her look quite a bit younger than she otherwise appears when Claudia watches her fight and train during the day. She lets herself look for a moment, somewhat lost in how utterly captivating she finds this strange warrior, before finally shaking herself free of the spell and clearing her throat.

Immediately, two deep green eyes snap open and the serene look drops from Livia's face. She does not move a muscle, but simply sits and stares hard at the blonde hovering in the doorway. Claudia feels her mouth go dry and flicks her tongue out in an attempt to wet her lips again. The motion does not go unnoticed, as she sees Livia's eyes drop a fraction to take it in before lifting again to meet her gaze.

“We leave tomorrow for Altinum, and your first contest,” Claudia says, wincing as she feels her voice break slightly around the words. She sighs and collects herself. “I wish you could understand my words. I would tell you what to expect, how best to prepare for the more political side of what you'll be made to do. I wish I could tell you how stunning you are.” She feels strangely bold, knowing that her speech is incomprehensible but nonetheless feeling compelled to express all of this to the woman.

Livia tilts her head very slightly to the side but is otherwise still, as though she is waiting for something.

“I will pray to the gods for your success,” Claudia adds after a moment. And then she dips her head slightly and turns to leave, feeling suddenly heavy and tired.

“Thank you.”

Claudia stops dead in her tracks. For a split second she thinks she imagined the voice—soft but strong, a golden alto accented in a way she has never heard before. It's almost musical, liked the plucked strings of a cithara.

Claudia turns back to face the warrior, surprise clear on her face. Livia has not moved, but there is a serious sort of smile in her eyes when Claudia looks back at her. The woman's lips are pressed together, jaw firmly set, and she nods once in polite acknowledgment.

_Begin by knowing that she understands_ you.

Guidgen's words replay in her head, and suddenly the answer to the puzzle slips into place. She smiles warmly, knowingly, trying to silently relay that she'll keep this new information private. Claudia thinks that would be wise, thinks she understands the motivation for it on Livia's part. She nods again and then leaves the woman to her business, a flush of excitement now creeping up her neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary of terms and names:  
> * Domina - honorific term/name given to head-of-household noble women  
> * Brittania - modern day Britain / UK  
> * Guidgen - male Gaul name, meaning "son of wood" (this is basically Gustus)  
> * Longinus - male Roman name, meaning "long" (this is basically Lincoln)  
> * cithara - a popular stringed instrument of Ancient Rome (where we get the modern word for "guitar")


	3. First Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Livia has her first fight in the arena. Claudia deals with some professional and personal bullshit. Claudia and Livia flirt, in their own weird way. And a bigger challenge arises.

She waits, still as a statue, the sun beating down hotly on her already bronzed skin. It shines gold in the light, highlighting the smooth, finely corded muscles that run along her arms, shoulders, the exposed parts of her stomach and back.

She is Minerva in human form, Claudia thinks, and the man who occupies the small, dirt-packed arena with her has no idea what awaits him once he makes his move.

Livia's opponent in this, her debut fight, is not much larger than she – the local game master would not listen when Claudia insisted that she could face a more daunting opponent and instead paired her with one of their smaller gladiators. The man is well muscled, agile, a gladius in one hand and a thick wooden shield in the other. Claudia was told that he has bested men twice his size, is an able fighter. But he is cocky with the idea of facing a _woman_ , and it will spell his death. 

The announcer stands and gestures broadly to the gathered crowd, who hush in anticipation of his introduction. 

“Citizens of the great and noble Roman Empire, we have a rare spectacle for you this day!” he begins, voice booming through the stone and wood that make up the small arena. “The Wasp, a tenacious fighter raised up from the slave ranks right here in Altinum, seeks to defend his winning streak and grow in your esteem.” The crowd roars in appreciation as the man raises his sword dramatically and salutes, turning in a circle to face the whole of the audience in turn. 

“The challenger we bring today is something not seen before on the sands of our humble arena!” the announcer continues. There is a low murmur from the crowd as Livia calmly removes the battered helmet she had been wearing before, tossing it aside in the dirt. “A savage warrior from the lands beyond the pale, captured and tamed after pitched battle with our brave legionnaires and brought here for your entertainment – Livia, Chieftess of the Picts!”

There are mingled cheers, boos, and startled chatter, but mostly the people in the stands stare in wide-eyed anticipation. Claudia feels her nerves settle slightly and raises her chin, doing her best to project an air of confidence. Though she has faith in Livia's abilities, this is the first real test of her in the environment of the gladiatorial arena and Claudia can't help but feel apprehensive, protective.

The announcer makes another grand gesture with his arms and proclaims the start of the match to another round of cheers from the crowd. Claudia holds her breath and sits forward in her cushioned chair as she waits for Livia to strike. She's seated under a shaded awning that covers a separate, raised dais where nobility sits away from the rest of the crowd and has an excellent view of the action. Octavia and Avecita sit just behind her, talking excitedly about what they're witnessing and occasionally goading Claudia, playfully, about her fascination with the Pictish warrior. Longinus, Octavia's husband, sits with them but mostly remains silent, a smile evident in his dark eyes. Claudia has always liked him, though she feels like she hardly knows the man, so often is he away on campaign. But he has a gentle spirit, despite his occupation, and seems to treat her friend well enough.

To her left sits the game master, a silver haired, pot bellied man by the name of Plinius Pomponius who has been a thorn in her side since the moment they set foot in Altinum. He only allowed the fight to happen out of respect for Claudia's husband and their standing in Rome, but it hasn't stopped him from directing barbed insults her way at every turn. Claudia has done her best to remain polite but firm, knowing that making an enemy of the man will do her no good in the long run, and would certainly be dangerous for Livia. 

Back on the dusty floor of the arena, Livia is still poised and waiting, her swords held loosely in either hand and down at her sides. She looks defenseless and though Claudia feels she knows better, she can't help but feel the tingling swirl of anxiety as she wonders what exactly the woman has planned.

The male gladiator circles to Livia's left side, sandal-clad feet stepping carefully, precisely, as he eyes her and grins, predatory. He's drawing it out, showing off a little for the crowd, which goads him on with lewd calls and shouts. Claudia can't help but hear some of the comments and feels her blood boil at them.

Finally, he lunges, making a great arcing sweep with his sword, intending to cut deep into Livia's shoulder and neck.

Livia moves like water, ducking suddenly and smoothly, dropping her shoulder and spinning away from the blow. She turns completely around in a flash, using the sword in her right hand to slash up and knock the weapon from her opponent's hand, then follows it in quick succession with the blade in her left hand, catching the man entirely off guard and leaving a long, deep, angry red gash along his entire right side.

His eyes go wide in surprise as blood splashes onto the dry packed earth below, and he howls in pain before collapsing to the ground. 

Claudia snaps back in her chair as soon as Livia's strikes land, her mouth snapping open in shock.

“That was quick,” Avecita says drolly from over her shoulder. They watch as Livia stands over the crippled gladiator and, in a single, easy action, uses both swords to cut his throat open wide. He bleeds out quickly, body twitching only briefly before going totally slack. Livia turns to face the dais where they all sit and look on in shocked awe, and awaits judgment. Her forearms are slick with blood, her brow glistening with sweat, but she looks otherwise undisturbed, like the whole thing was nothing more than a quick afternoon errand.

Claudia swallows around a painfully dry throat at the sight of her.  _Much too quick_ , she thinks. It's clear that Livia is a talented warrior and could go very far in this game, but she will have to learn how to put on a  _show_ while she's at it. The crowd seems shocked enough by the fast and unexpected result that they are making a great deal of noise – only some of it booing. There are definitely a few wild cheers of support. No one is throwing garbage at Livia, so that's a good start, at least.

The game master gets slowly to his feet and gives the hand gesture to indicate that the match is over and won. The crowd cheers, and Livia dips her head just slightly in deference. And then she stalks back off the field and into the darkened doorway from which she'd originally appeared.

She catches the eye of the game master, who shakes his head and sighs.

“Teach her better manners, my lady, and do it quick,” he says lowly, “else I will not be able to guarantee her any more fights, regardless of how highly I hold your house in my esteem.”

“She'll learn, I promise you,” Claudia returns, standing. Her friends follow her lead and begin to collect themselves for departure. There are other fights to come that day but Claudia has no interest. She needs to speak with Livia. “I thank you for the opportunity to demonstrate her skill. You can expect to hear from me again soon.”

Polite nods are exchanged and the group files down the staircase at the back of the dais. Claudia tells her friends not to wait for her and to return to the villa, where she will meet them once her business is done. Longinus leaves two guards to watch over her before leaving to escort Avecita and his wife back.

Claudia finds the woman in a dimly lit stone chamber tucked deep beneath the stands of the arena, being attended to by two young servant girls. She stands stock still in the middle of the stone floor, stripped utterly naked, while they dump buckets of water over her head to clean off the blood and sweat. Claudia sees the woman shiver slightly at what must be the cold temperature of the rough bath, but is otherwise stoic and still.

She can't help but drink in the sight of the powerful, feminine form before her, wondering at the meaning of the copious ink tattooed into her skin. Still, Claudia doesn't want to come off as a complete lech and so trains her eyes on the woman's face as she steps more fully into the room. Her guards stand to either side of the narrow doorway, a respectful distance back.

Livia meets her stare as the girls continue to work, now covering her with thick oil, rubbing it into her muscles and through her long, curly brown hair. Out of the braids that had held it back during the fight, her hair hangs below her neckline and frames her face in waves, making her look somehow softer. But her eyes are all iron, unflinching, flashing in the light of the oil lamp that illuminates the space. Claudia can't help but think that the look she's being given is... _hungry_ . She restrains a shudder at the thought.  _She would eat you alive_ .

“You fought well,” she says. Livia nods ever so slightly. “But your showmanship is for shit.” The blunt statement is met by a slight tilt of the head. Perhaps Livia's command of the language is not so good after all, Claudia muses, and tries again. “You must learn to draw out the fight, play to the crowd. You must make them love you, or you will lose, despite defeating your opponents on the sands.”

The girls are now drawing narrow wooden tools along Livia's flesh, skimming off the oil and letting it fall to the floor in globs. With the popular gladiators in Rome, the leftover mix of oil and sweat is collected in jars and sold to wealthy noblewomen who use it for everything from skin care to an aphrodisiac. Claudia has always found the practice a little distasteful, but watching Livia attended like this is not the worst way she has ever spent her time.

The woman doesn't respond to her statement with anything more than flared nostrils and the two just stand, staring at one another, as the girls finish their work. Livia doesn't move even after they excuse themselves from the room and Claudia reads the unspoken challenge in the non-action. Her clothing and armor lay off to one side, waiting, but Livia seems intent on facing her naked. Still, Claudia holds her gaze.

“You may hate Rome and what it has done to you,” she goes on, keeping her voice low and steady. “You may hate me as well. But if you have any desire to some day win back your freedom, you must make the _crowd_ love you. Do you understand?”

A moment of silence passes between them. Claudia thinks maybe the warrior is too proud, too stubborn to acknowledge the truth of her situation and Claudia's good advice, but finally, with a slight raise of her chin, Livia responds.

“Yes.”

It is enough, for now. Claudia feels her shoulders relax and she nods appreciatively. 

“You will fight again, soon. Do what you did so well today, but make it last. Enjoy it, even. You are proving many Roman nobles wrong, and if there's one thing we nobles hate it is to be proven wrong about something.” Claudia lets a smile touch her eyes and sees a responding twitch at the corners of Livia's mouth. _That one struck a chord,_ she notes, pleased, and again feels a sudden heat pool low in her gut. It doesn't help that Livia is still fully nude before her, still flush with victory and looking for all the world like an animal ready to pounce.

This is neither the time nor place for the testing of intentions, though, and Claudia has work to do. She turns quickly on her heel and leaves the suddenly stifling confines of the chamber, her guards moving swiftly to follow.

~*~

Octavia and Avecita are drunk. Claudia has only sipped her wine and is enjoying the light buzzing in her head and warm swirling in her chest, but otherwise is intent on maintaining a relatively clear head. Tomorrow Livia will fight again, and this time the games master has paired her with a monster of a man in what she can only imagine is an attempt to put an end to the woman gladiator. She'd be lying if she didn't admit to herself that she's worried.

For now, however, Claudia tries to focus on her friends, who seem to be having a marvelous time living off the good graces and hospitality of the Villa Vivianus. Flavia has joined them for the evening and regales them with stories of the various petty intrigues and dramas of Altinum's elite. There is laughter as Ave remarks sarcastically about it all, and Claudia notices the way that Octavia can't seem to take her eyes off her friend's mouth as she speaks.

“And you, Claudia, how is this little project of yours going?”

Flavia's question catches her off guard, as she had only been half paying attention. Claudia tries to clear the haze from her head and focuses on the brunette, her hostess' gray eyes hawk-like in their appraisal.

“My...little project?” Claudia asks. 

“This woman you've brought to fight,” Flavia explains, clearly amused at the very concept. “Isn't it a bit distasteful? And yet you seem so sure.”

“I am sure,” Claudia says flatly. “You should come to see her fight tomorrow and you will understand why I place such faith in her abilities. A great warrior is a great warrior, regardless of sex.”

“Regardless of you getting any sex from her, even,” Ave adds, droll as ever. Claudia feels heat prickle her cheeks and tosses a small pillow at her friend's face.

“You forget your place, Ave,” Claudia shoots back. “I will not touch her unless she wills it.”

“I can't understand for the life of me why you would lower yourself to intercourse with such beasts,” Flavia says, laughing. “But I understand less this strange sense of honor you have about it. They are your _property_ , Claudia. You may do with them whatsoever you choose. They fight at your behest. They _die_ at your command. Surely you can make them _fuck_ you as well.”

Claudia bristles and feels her fingers curl into fists but forces herself to take a deep, calming breath. Flavia and her husband hold considerable influence, not just in Altinum but across the whole of the peninsula. It would do her cause no good to make an enemy of the woman, no matter how satisfying it might feel in the doing.

“I take no pleasure in forced obedience, dear friend,” she says by way of answer. “Even with the fight, I want them to _want_ to win glory for our house. I want them to crave the adoration of the masses. We train them to be something more than they ever were before, or ever could have become without our help. As for sexual pleasure, that is something that should always be given freely and never taken.”

Claudia can't help but let an icy finality creep into her tone at the last part of her speech. She sees Octavia glance at her with concern, knowing all too well the history behind her words. Ave seems to glean some of it, too, if the knowing and supportive look she gives her is any indication.

Flavia barrels right past the subtext, however, waving her wine glass in the air before her face as she speaks. “Well I wish you much success, Claud. Though I do hope you have other prospects in line. I would hate for you to be left with nothing after the Cerberus inevitably destroys your barbarian woman tomorrow.”

“I am prepared for any eventuality, Flavia,” Claudia growls. “Now if you'll excuse me, I'd like to retire for the night. Busy day tomorrow, as you've said.”

She stands abruptly, taking a moment to steady herself as the alcohol in her system causes her to feel a little unsteady at the swift change in position. She gives Octavia and Ave a reassuring glance before quickly exiting the room, and does her best to ignore the sound of Flavia tittering merrily after she's gone.

The evening is warm but not unpleasantly so. There is a gentle breeze rolling off the ocean and across the marshes, bringing with it the scent of salt and decaying plants. It's good to feel moisture on the air again, after the long, dry summer in Rome. Claudia walks without thinking of where she is going, leaving the main living quarters of the villa and finding herself at the compound where Livia is being kept. There is a small, grassy yard the runs along the meager outbuilding, and there she can make out the dark shape of a woman at practice with two swords.

She stops and watches from what she hopes is an unseen vantage point behind a white marble column. Livia is, as ever, stunning in her movements, so like a dancer in a particularly deadly pantomime. Minutes pass with only the sound of the breeze and the quiet swooshing noises made by Livia's blades as they cut through the air. Eventually, though, she comes to rest and seeks out a water skin left lying against a nearby column.

As the woman drinks deeply, her throat silvered in the moonlight, Claudia can't help but stare. Hooded eyes catch her, though, as Livia drops the skin back to the ground. They stand and gaze at one another for a moment, and then Claudia gathers her courage and walks toward her.

“Good evening, Livia,” she says as she comes to stand just a few feet from the other woman. She can see perspiration gleaming along her exposed skin, her hair again tightly plaited, ready for tomorrow's battle.

“That is not my name,” the woman answers. Claudia smiles despite the rebuke. It is the longest sentence yet from the warrior.

“I know that,” she says lightly. “But everyone gets a new name when they enter the arena. It is part of building your legend, something the people can relate to. Livia was a great woman in our history, the wife of a great emperor and mother to another.”

“I am neither thing,” Livia replies coolly. Claudia raises her eyebrows, intrigued.

“Then who are you?” She wants, more than anything, to know this woman's story. And yet she feels as though she must tread very carefully. Claudia waits for any answer the woman might give her, breath unconsciously held.

Livia slides both of her swords into the twin sheaths at her sides and sinks back onto her heels.

“I was called Aífe, of the Maeatae,” she says, her voice hard, commanding. But then her face softens and falls, her green eyes suddenly distant. “Now I am _Livia._ I am no one.”

Claudia feels her heart clench in her chest and wants nothing more than to reach out to caress the woman's face. Years of practice keep her from even a twitch of movement.

“I am told you killed many Roman soldiers before you were captured,” Claudia says instead. “You must have been a great warrior for your people.”

“We are all of us great warriors,” she replies, her face again a hard mask of pride. “But you are too many, and you come where you do not belong.”

Claudia can't deny it. Rome's control and influence have spread to cover most of the known world—through conquest both political and military. It is simply how things had always been, she had not known another reality. But she can imagine, at least a little, what it must be like for those scattered tribes suddenly faced with such overwhelming power and certain annihilation. She wondered why anyone bothered to resist. But looking now into the Pictish woman's flashing eyes, the upward tilt of her jaw, the sinewy muscles rippling just underneath scar-flecked skin...Claudia can begin to appreciate their defiance.

“How did you learn our language?” she asks, letting the previous topic go. The question earns her a subtle loosening of the woman's posture and expression.

“Two moons I spend on the road, listening to your soldiers talk and talk and talk,” Livia explains, cocking a single eyebrow. “I learn.”

Claudia smiles in return. 

“Then you are smarter than any Roman is likely to give you credit for,” she says. “You can use that to your advantage in the arena and outside of it. Let them underestimate you. Tomorrow you face a warrior they call the Cerberus. The hound of hell. He files his teeth to points and fights with a three-headed mace. He will not be easily beaten. And so he is to be our punishment for winning so quickly last time and embarrassing the master of games.”

“Only I will fight him and risk death. How is it your punishment as well?” Livia asks.

“The master of games means to put me in my place. He cannot attack me directly, given the status of my husband and our house. But he can put an end to my involvement in the games. In trying to see you, a woman, triumphant in them.”

“And why do you wish to see me triumphant?” she asks, voice suddenly quiet. Claudia lets herself consider the question for a moment. Her initial motivation had been one purely driven by the quest for greater glory and profit, because she saw the potential for a sensation in the warrior. But the idea of having a woman proving her worth in the arena was almost instantly appealing, too. There was some dark, hidden place inside Claudia that wished she could be the one to do it – take up arms and cut down the men who kept her and her friends locked away in their homes, behind the scenes, belittled and coddled. Treated like broodmares or concubines. She had been so very lucky to be married to Marcus, who mostly leaves her to her own devices and tolerates her ambitions, but it hasn't meant she's been lucky all her life. It doesn't mean that her luck will hold forever.

And it hasn't made her any less ambitious, restless. Nor has the introduction into her life of this absurdly attractive, mysterious warrior. But she's not about to reveal all of that to Livia just now. Instead, she hedges, offering some of the truth.

“Because a great warrior deserves the same chance as anyone. And because I would love nothing more than to see you prove that a woman can _be_ that great warrior.”

Livia smiles darkly and takes the smallest of steps toward Claudia. She lowers her head and stares directly into the other woman's eyes, as though in challenge. Something else instead flares between them, though, and Claudia sucks in a startled breath.

“I have nothing to prove,” Livia says, her voice a dangerously low rumble. “But I will destroy this hound of hell all the same.”

“Do it,” Claudia says, “and name your reward.” She refuses to look away from the intense stare as she speaks, intent to make her meaning crystal clear. Livia flinches and pulls her head back again, posture rigid. The moonlight hides the blush that colors her cheeks, but Claudia can hear the slight hitch in her breathing and feels a responding clutching in her chest.

She wants to say something more but the words don't come. It is getting late and there is a long day to come. Instead, she straightens and offers yet another polite nod, readying herself to leave.

“Rest well, Livia,” Claudia says, quiet. Livia bows her head.

“Goodnight, Domina.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary of terms:  
> * Aife - Celtic name and reference to a mythical character from the Ulster Cycle, pronounced a bit like "ee-fah." There is no record of any Pictish women's names, though some historians assume they were similar to many old Irish names.  
> * Maeatae - one of two major confederation of tribes that made up the Picts, who lived near the wall.


	4. Threshold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Livia fights the Cerberus and gets her reward. Some feels make an appearance but are quickly squished.
> 
> (Song recommendation for this chapter: "Strange Pleasures" by Still Corners)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick note to say THANK YOU for all the awesomely kind comments and kudos. Means a lot. I'm having too much fun writing this sucker, so it's good to know that others are enjoying it as well. Tell your friends, stick around, and let me know if you have questions, encouragement, suggestions, etc.

The crowd has been whipped into near frenzy. The previous fights were dramatic and brutal affairs and the coppery scent of blood hangs heavy in the air. The arena is packed to the gills with people of all social classes, and it seems as though all in attendance have thrown off any sense of propriety they might otherwise possess. There are shouts, whistles, fists thumped hard into chests, demands for more.

They know what's coming. The game master, Plinius, has gone out of his way to promote the match between his prized gladiator, the one they call the Cerberus, and the upstart woman warrior. Word spread after Livia's first match and curiosity, whether it be morbid or supportive, has swelled the numbers in the stands.

Claudia is in her usual place on the shaded dais, her friends flanking her, the game master pointedly avoiding her stare as he sits in state to her right. The announcer stands and raises both hands into the air and the crowd hushes in anticipation.

She doesn't listen to his introduction. Claudia's eyes are trained on the doorway she knows Livia waits behind, her heart in her throat. She doesn't realized how tightly she's gripping the wooden arm of her chair until a smooth, tanned hand slides over hers and squeezes lightly.

“She'll be fine,” Octavia's voice tickles gently at her ear. She takes a calming breath and tries to offer her friend a grateful smile.

There's so much riding on this fight. Claudia has already agonized over it all in private, unwilling to show just how anxious she is to anyone around her. It reminds her to school her features back into cool indifference. It wouldn't do to let the vainglorious games master see any weakness.

But the truth is that her newly made reputation will crumble at the slightest misstep. A mistake or embarrassment could harm her entire house, the legacy of her husband and his family. And then there's the unsettling, intense protectiveness she feels toward Livia herself. She wants to see her win for how much it would gall the game master and every man who ever doubted them, but she also wants to see Livia win to see her _live_.

Claudia pushes the thought down and concentrates instead on the dusty field in front of her. The announcer has made it through an energetic introduction and drops his hands, a signal to the servants down in pit to open the two doors on either side of the arena.

Livia enters first, to equally mixed boos, jeers, and excited shouts. Her hair is pulled back into tight, intricate plaiting just as it was the night before when Claudia last saw her. She wears a single leather pauldron on her left shoulder, its strap secured tightly around her ribs. More leather covers her chest and upper back, leaving the taut muscles of her stomach bare. It's a sort of inverted gladiator uniform from what the men wear, with their chests bare and stomachs covered by a thick leather belt. Claudia can't help but appreciate the look and all that it both hides and reveals. 

Her usual two swords are grasped lightly in either hand as she waits, face stoic, for her opponent to enter the ring.

When he does, the crowd goes absolutely wild. A few of the women in the middle rows of stands actually fling open the tops of their dresses to reveal bare breasts, lost in a frenzy of adoration for the absolute beast of a man now lumbering to the center of the arena.

The Cerberus is a giant, a good foot taller than Livia and certainly at least three times as heavy. His skin is strangely pale and already covered in a thick sheen of sweat. He wears only a loincloth and wide leather belt, everything else bare to thoroughly display the great bunching muscles and wicked scars that cover his body. 

He sneers at Livia, revealing two rows of jaggedly filed teeth. Claudia feels disgust curl in her stomach, but Livia seems unfazed by the display. She lowers herself into an easy crouch, one sword held aloft and the other just below her waist, and again stills herself in wait.

The man clutches the handle of his weapon in his right hand. The chains of the three-headed mace are blackened iron, and he lets them drag behind him in the dirt as he takes a step toward Livia. Then, with a quickness belied by his size, the Cerberus springs into action. He whips the handle of the mace up and over his head, sending its three ends whirring into the air before swinging it around at Livia's head.

She easily dodges the first blow, ducking and then rolling to the right as the spiked balls whiz overhead. The Cerberus roars and reaches out with his empty hand and just manages to grab a hold of her ankle as she's sliding away. He gives a hard tug and Livia's momentum comes to an abrupt halt. She's snapped back suddenly, but just as her opponent is about to bring the mace down on her once again she launches herself forward and into his stomach like a battering ram. 

The collision only briefly winds him—Claudia hears with satisfaction the surprised grunt he lets out on impact—before collecting himself and landing a hard blow to the side of Livia's head. She staggers backwards, slightly dazed, but manages to catch his next punch with her sword, leaving an angry gash along his knuckles but causing the blade to drop from her own.

He howls in outrage. Livia takes a few quick steps away, putting distance between them and taking a moment to shake off the hit. The crowd roars.

Suddenly, the man tugs the mace back into motion, and it's so fast Claudia can hardly register what's happened before the chains wrap themselves around Livia's legs and send her sprawling to the hard ground. Her one remaining sword flies out of her hand and lands well away. She lets out a pained wheeze and tries to scramble to her feet, but the Cerberus is on her in an instant. He lands a series of brutal kicks to her middle as she tries to crawl away, finally leaving her in a gasping heap in the dirt.

Livia rolls slowly onto her back in time to see the beast loom over her, his body momentarily blocking out the harsh rays of the noonday sun. The audience, sensing that the end is near, begin to scream and shout, demanding blood. Out of the corner of her eye Claudia can see the smug look on the game master's face, but her attention is almost totally focused on the prone body before her. Though she is not particularly religious, she sends up a silent prayer to the gods and holds her breath.

The Cerberus whirls his mace into the air again, spinning it in a wide arc once, twice, three times, before bringing his arm down to land the killing blow.   
  
Just as the heads are about to make contact with Livia's skull, however, she springs into action; the woman rolls quickly to the side, avoiding the first two mace heads entirely. They hit the ground with loud, dull thumps. The third spiked ball grazes the side of her face and sends thin streams of blood into the air. But she's still moving, rolling onto her back again, then windmilling her legs around and catching the man with two hard kicks. The action trips him and he tumbles awkwardly to the ground, the mace coming free of his hand and skittering a few feet away. 

Livia is on her feet in an instant and scrambles to retrieve one of her swords. She turns and lands a long slash along the man's exposed chest, a splatter of blood following her blade on the other end of the strike. He screams as he jumps back to a standing position, and then lunges for her, livid. Livia sees it coming and dives to the side, rolling again and bringing her sword around to slash. She catches the Cerberus along the tendon at the back of his ankle, severing it.

The huge man instantly topples to the ground, a thick pool of blood already collecting in the dirt below him. His howls are blood curdling, incoherent, as he clutches blindly at his leg. Livia raises up onto her feet again, slowly, suddenly a little unsteady. She faces the dais, breathing heavily, sword still grasped in one hand.

The crowd had gone almost instantly and eerily quiet the moment the Cerberus hit the ground, his ankle cut open. Shock and anticipation cracks electric through the air of the arena, and Claudia feels her tongue catch in her throat. 

“Hot damn,” Ave whispers. No one pays her any mind, though, all eyes trained on the games master.

He looks like he wants to spit, Claudia notes with no small amount of satisfaction, but instead he pushes himself out of his chair and faces a waiting Livia. The crowd starts a low murmur that slowly grows into a sort of chant. At first, she cant't quite make it out, but eventually the word coalesces enough to be understood.

_Death._

How fickle the crowd. One minute the Cerberus was their champion, inspiring frenzied devotion and cheers. But now, defeated and maimed, they call for his end.

The games master raises one hand in front of his face and, heeding the wishes of the crowd, gives the signal.

Livia nods once and then turns to face the crumpled form of her opponent. She places the tip of the sword at the back of the man's thick neck and, in one swift, practiced move, plunges it down.

It kills him almost instantly. A good, clean death. Livia was not obligated to grant him such, but Claudia feels a sort of fierce pride blossom in her chest at the move.

The audience goes absolutely wild once it's done. The people who had not already been standing fly to their feet and another, different chant goes up, echoing off the walls of the arena and out into the town itself.

_Livia. Livia. Livia._

She's won the crowd.

~*~

Claudia finds her being tended to by the medicus in the candlelit chamber under the arena. Livia sits at the edge of a thin cot, her torso wrapped tightly in white bandages. The left side of her face is a bruised, bloody mess, though considerably cleaner after the attentions of the robed man at her side. A bowl of red-hued water sits on the ground between them, blood soaked rags hanging over the edges. The medicus is just finishing up a line of black stitches along a particularly nasty gash near her jaw line when Claudia approaches.

She waits a few feet away as the man tidies up his things and then turns to face her.

“Domina,” he says, bowing slightly. “I have left some herbs, for the pain, and others for making a poultice. You will want someone to change her bandage, but make sure they are tight. Her ribs are very bruised but not broken. She will heal, if allowed to rest.”

“Thank you,” she says, nodding. The medicus bows again and exits through the low door, leaving the two women alone.

Livia stares at her impassively, her left eye swollen but still open. She sits as straight as possible, given the condition of her ribs, her shoulders back. Bloodied but unbowed. 

“I have slain your hell hound,” the woman says, her voice gravelly and low.

“And you made the people love you for it,” Claudia adds. “I thank you, and congratulate you on your hard earned victory.”

An unreadable expression floods Livia's deep green gaze and the two just stare at one another for a long moment. Finally, Claudia takes another step closer.

“How do you feel?” she asks, not breaking eye contact.

“I have felt better,” Livia says. It takes a second, but then a sly grin curls her lips. _Is this actual humor_? Claudia is caught somewhat off guard by the quip. She returns the smile.

“And your reward? What do you name?” she asks. Some small part of her hopes against hope that Livia will simply lunge to her feet and press those beautiful, plush lips into her own – but the rational part of her brain knows that Livia is too hurt for any such thing, even if she wanted to do it. Which she probably does not. There are probably a million other things that Livia might request that would benefit her more.

Still, Livia does not blink or look away, meeting Claudia's cautiously hopeful and teasing blue gaze with one of her own.

“I would eat a good meal,” she says at last. “I would sleep.”

“These things I would arrange for you anyway,” Claudia rebukes her gently. The woman seems to ponder for a moment, then sighs, finally dropping her gaze to her knees.

“Sleep with me.”

Claudia has to blink a few times to clear her head, certain she must have misheard. Livia looks up and seems to notice the startled look on her face.

“Just sleep,” she adds. “Share a bed.”

It is such a strangely sweet request, not at all what Claudia expected, but she finds that she cannot say no. Doesn't want to say no. In fact, the idea is incredibly appealing and comes with an odd sort of... _relief_ .

“As you wish,” she says simply. 

Claudia leaves Livia to the serving girls who arrive shortly thereafter, to help her with the rest of her clean up. After collecting her share of the days' take from the games and enjoying the grudging deference of the game master, their entourage makes its way back to the villa. Talk over supper is of nothing but the incredible fight. Octavia and Longinus can't stop raving about Livia's technique and resiliency, Ave interjecting saucy comments here and there, and Flavia and her husband looking equal parts appalled and delighted by it all.

  
Claudia mostly just listens contentedly to the conversation, chewing thoughtfully on roasted dormice and pieces of dried fruit. Her thoughts frequently drift to Livia – how she looked when she fought, her injuries, her requested reward. 

Finally, it grows late enough that Claudia can excuse herself without being impolite. Longinus has already drifted off and is snoring lightly at Octavia's side as his wife and Ave play an intense game of tabula. Claudia bids her host and hostess good night and pads quietly back toward her room in the villa. Once well out of sight, however, she veers off course and heads instead toward the servant's outbuilding.

Claudia finds the warrior woman laying on her cot, hands crossed gently over her bandaged stomach and eyes trained on the door as she enters. Her chestnut hair is out of the braids and splayed in wild curls across the thin pillow below it.

When Livia tries to sit up and winces with the effort, Claudia hurries to close the small space between them and gently guides her back down onto her back.

  
“Don't get up, just rest,” she urges quietly. Livia looks grateful and relaxes again on the bed.

Without any more words between them, Claudia carefully climbs into the bed next to the woman, lying on her side to look at the unhurt side of Livia's face. It takes every ounce of her resolve, but Claudia does not touch her, keeping an inch between their bodies. If Livia wants anything different, it will be up to her to initiate it.

Livia closes her eyes and lets a long breath out through her nose. When she opens her eyes again Claudia can swear she sees moisture along the rims, pooling ever so slightly there. She watches the muscles in Livia's jaw clench and wonders if she wants to say something, but no words are forthcoming. Instead, she turns her head just enough to line up her face with Claudia's, and leans in just enough to brush the lightest of kisses on her lips. 

It's over before Claudia even registers what's happening, and she let's her mouth hang open slightly in surprise.

“Goodnight, Domina,” Livia whispers. She turns her head back to face the ceiling and closes her eyes, seemingly intent on sleep.

Claudia's heart is thumping hard in her chest and she feels wide awake, but after a few moments pass and nothing more happens, she too rolls to lay on her back. Eventually, sleep takes her.

When she wakes again it is still dark in the little room, the lone candle having long since burned out. A thin sliver of moonlight peeks in through the door and cuts across their bed at their feet. Curled now on her side, Claudia feels something warm and soft pressed against her back. Long strands of dark hair tickle at her cheek and an arm is draped heavily over her hip. She feels heat rush to her cheeks as realization dawns on her about where she is and who is currently snuggled close to her body.

She doesn't want to wake Livia, for fear that their current situation might startle or anger the woman, but also because the position may actually prove painful should Livia move suddenly. She also can't help but revel in the feeling of being this close to someone— _to Livia, in particular—_ because it has been awhile and she has missed this kind of human contact.

She wonders how long it's been for Livia.

Claudia takes a chance and lightly runs a finger along the forearm draped so casually over her middle. Livia stirs slightly in her sleep but otherwise doesn't respond. Claudia sighs, sleepy and content, and curls more deeply into the other woman. 

She feels her heart jump a little when the arm enclosing her tightens its grip ever so slightly. Livia presses the palm of her hand into Claudia's stomach over the thin material of her sleeping gown, and she wonders if the woman is still asleep after all.

The answer to her question comes when she feels a light nip at the shell of her ear, followed by a warm exhalation of breath. A hot spike of want shoots immediately to her center and Claudia arches her back, pushing her ass just slightly into Livia's hips, hoping it will encourage her further.

Livia's hand moves up from her stomach to grasp firmly at her breast, kneading it slowly before taking the pebbled bud at its center between her fingers and tugging lightly. Claudia can't help but gasp quietly and feels her hips buck once in response.

Everything that follows happens with tantalizing slowness. Claudia tries to be mindful of the woman's injuries, but Livia seems intent to see this through regardless of them.

Livia drops her hand from Claudia's breasts and reaches to grasp at the hem of her gown, pulling it up over her hips. Long, slender fingers seek out the already soaked folds between her thighs and begin an insistent exploration there. Claudia sees stars and sucks in a startled gasp, her hips moving again of their own accord, seeking to guide those fingers to where she most wants them.

Finally, Livia uses the gathered wetness and slides one finger into Claudia's center, then another as she relaxes around her. She picks up a slow, steady rhythm, pushing the palm of her hand into the aching bud at the apex of Claudia's sex. Claudia follows it with her own movements as quiet gasps fall from her lips. She scrabbles for some kind of hold on the other woman, eventually gripping tightly at her flexed upper arm while trying not to impede her efforts.

It's all too soon before Claudia feels herself building toward release, tension coiled in her groin and gut. She crashes over the edge with a guttural moan, flexing and twitching around Livia's agile fingers, her body pressing back into the woman's front. Livia pulls every last ounce of pleasure from her before ceasing her thrusts, then slowly removes her fingers from the clinging heat.

Claudia shudders out a relieved breath and turns to face her on the narrow bed. Livia's eyes are heavy lidded and intent. She looks both pleased and hungry. All Claudia can think to do is crash their lips together in a searing kiss that quickly has tongues seeking entrance, lips bitten, breath lost.

Livia winces slightly as Claudia pushes against her, and the sound cuts through her lust induced haze. She pulls back with a look of apology and runs her hand down the uninjured side of Livia's face.

“I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have--” she blurts, horrified with her lack of control. Livia stops her with a finger to her lips.

“I want this,” she says simply.

“But you're hurt,” Claudia insists. 

“Not so badly.”

For a moment Claudia considers protesting again, apologizing and slinking back to her more comfortable—if empty--bed inside the villa. But then Livia gives her this  _look_ and the haze descends again and all she can think to do is make this woman, this goddess, see stars. 

Orgasms are, after all, one of the most effective pain killers she knows.

“Lie back,” she says, voice dropping to its lowest register. Livia does as she's told, eyes wide, her breaths heavy. “Try to keep still.”

Claudia can hear the resulting chuckle as she lowers herself down the strong, lithe body beneath her. Livia is wearing only a light, short skirt around her lower half and Claudia makes quick work of pulling it down and off her long legs. She slides back up so that her face is just inches away from the place where she intends to make her home for the next little while. She takes a moment to breathe in the smell of Livia – heady, musky, but also light like spring rain – and then presses forward with her mouth.

The initial contact draws a low, grateful moan from Livia and Claudia smiles as she goes about exploring every fold and crevice with her tongue, teasing up and around her straining clit before dipping down to push into the tight ring of muscle at her center. 

She can tell the woman is trying hard not to move. Livia's hands clutch at the thin sheet crumpled around them, then grasp in Claudia's long hair, not guiding but seemingly just holding on for dear life. Livia brings her knees up and her thighs press in on either side of Claudia's face but she pays it no mind, thoroughly enjoying every response she elicits in the woman.

Eventually, she settles on a steady rhythm of broad licks and sucks on and around Livia's clit, and she can tell the woman is getting close. As she feels Livia's hips begin to rise from the bed and her thighs clench around her face, Claudia slides two fingers into her dripping center and matches their pace with that of her mouth.

It proves to be Livia's undoing, and she gives one, hard shudder as a string of incomprehensible words tumble from her mouth. Claudia can't speak her language but somewhere in the back of her head she knows what Livia says is  _filthy_ . Some tones are simply universal.

She lets Livia ride her face and fingers through a series of contractions, using her free hand to steady her and keep her from bucking too hard, afraid that she will hurt herself again.

When Livia finally comes to rest, her breaths coming in deep gasps, Claudia climbs back up her body and lands a long, languid kiss, letting Livia taste herself on her lips. They moan into each others' mouths, taking their time, before weariness overcomes the warrior at last and she breaks away.

Claudia stares into the dark pools of her eyes, trying to read her thoughts. She wishes it weren't so dark, so that she could really  _see_ all of Livia. But that will have to wait for another time, when her gladiator is also not quite so bruised.

_Another time_ .

She wonders if it's too much to hope for, if perhaps Livia was only allowing herself a reward for a job well done, using her to fill a space in what must be an otherwise lonely and strange new life.

“Thank you,” Livia whispers, her eyes for a moment searching the blue ones just inches away. But then she closes them and turns away slightly, and Claudia realizes after a time that she is asleep again.

When dawn breaks, she crawls quietly from Livia's bed and slips out of the room, bare feet tracking through fresh dew as she pads through the grass between the outbuilding and the villa.

They leave town that day.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Octavia and Avecita (Raven) haven't gotten much screen time just yet, I know, but for what it's worth I promise they both have much larger roles to play as the story progresses.
> 
> Also I'm fully aware that "hot damn" is probably not a phrase known to ancient Romans (or Spaniards) but sometimes you just gotta let Raven be Raven, you know?


	5. All Roads Lead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The honeymoon ends before it even began as Roman politics rear their ugly head – or, it's hard out here for Pict.

If Octavia or Avecita wonder at the reasons behind their hasty departure from Altinum, they keep their questions from Claudia.

They had agreed that Flavia, while the consummate hostess, was not the best of company and all laughed when Avecita joked that the woman was simply too phallocentric to appreciate a woman in the arena. It was a true enough reason to move on to another city, if not the whole truth.

Claudia would normally confide in her closest friends about her fears—that she'd been left with an uneasy feeling at the game master's treatment of her and Livia, especially after the embarrassing win over his prized fighter—but the next few weeks are a whirlwind of activity that keep her from ever really having the time or the wherewithal for such private talks.

They travel from city to city, up and down the coast before venturing further inland, and each time Claudia has to fight and employ her shrewdest negotiation tactics in order to gain Livia a place in the games. Each time Livia proves herself worthy of her growing reputation, laying waste to every opponent the local game masters choose for her. They're mostly tall, hulking beasts tripped up by her speed and cunning, though there are a few trickier contests with skilled warriors, men who do not underestimate Livia based on her sex. Those are the most stressful matches to watch for Claudia, who looks down to see her knuckles blasted white with tension each time, throat cracked and dry, stomach clenched.

She and Livia see each other almost every night. Claudia slips away as soon as her social duties are done for the evening, meeting Livia in whatever room or tent she's staying in at the time. On nights when the warrior lies too battered and bruised for sex, Claudia tends to her as best she can, applying salves and bandages and gently rubbing tired muscles. 

It reminds her, in a way, of all the times she watched her own mother tend to her father's wounds upon return from campaign. Her father hated the military but it had been his fate, as the third son, to join and serve and she'd been told he comported himself well.

She pushes the thoughts and memories aside.

There is very little talk between them, preferring instead to seek whatever amount of solace or pure animal pleasure they need from one another. But there are moments when Claudia catches herself staring at the sharp curve of the other woman's jaw, the profile of her face lit softly by candlelight, and wondering what thoughts keep Livia's mind occupied. What her history is. What she wants now, if she wants anything at all beyond survival and their nightly assignations.

They fall asleep together, sweat slicked limbs entangled, though every time Claudia wakes in the early hours just before dawn to slip away back to her own quarters, trying to remain unseen by anyone else.

She should know it won't last. Part of Claudia has always braced for the inevitable thing that will force them to stop seeing one another – whether it be Livia's death in the arena or some political consideration. She'd ignored those thoughts as best she could, too, living for the moment much as she imagined Livia was doing.

The thing came one night deep into their tour, when everything changed.

Their party had settled in a city far inland and north of Rome. There was a large amphitheater there and a surprisingly amenable games master who seemed delighted at the novelty of a woman gladiator. The man, Septimus, went so far as to give Claudia and her retinue lodging within his own villa on a low hill overlooking the city.

It was a blessedly cool night, a welcome change from the heat of the lower country. Claudia bids goodnight to her friends and sets off toward the room in the nearby ludus where Livia will stay and train in the lead up to her fight in two days time. She feels strangely light and content as she walks, reveling in the feeling of not being covered in a film of sweat for the first time in weeks.

As Claudia approaches the low archway that leads to the gallery of rooms where the gladiators sleep, a slight movement at the corner of her eye catches her attention. She pushes herself against the nearby stone wall of the building and stills her breathing, listening.

Flickering gold torchlight spills from the entryway and dances across the packed earth. Suddenly, a shadow passes in front of the light source and then is gone just as quickly.

Claudia creeps along the wall and then slowly peaks around the corner and through the archway. The gallery consists of a long hallway with doors all along either side, torches in sconces at intervals between them. Livia's room is the furthest toward the back, she knows. Everything is quiet, the handful of gladiators currently living at the ludus all apparently well in bed and asleep for the night.

She catches movement again, a shadow gliding through deeper shadows at the end of the hall. Instinctively, Claudia reaches for the small dagger she keeps hidden beneath her robes and wields it easily as she moves carefully down the hallway.

It isn't wise. Somewhere in the back of her head Claudia knows full well that what she ought to be doing is going to summon a guard or two for help. But the last few weeks have left her more paranoid and protective than she cares to admit, and the only thing she can focus on is the possibility of threat in relation to Livia.

Claudia stops in her tracks two doorways down from Livia's room and watches as a hooded figure steps into the small circle of wavering light in front of the entrance. She's relieved to see that the door is locked from the inside, as the person fumbles with the latch for a moment before reaching into a satchel hung at their side to retrieve a few metal tools.

She's running on some long buried instinct now, waiting and watching as the figure busies themselves with picking the lock. They use a simple metal hook to slide through the crack between the door and the wall, using it to lift a lever on the other side, and then the door glides quietly open.

The person slides soundlessly into the room. Claudia holds her breath and hurries to follow, dagger at the ready. 

The room itself is lit by a single candle, burned halfway to its base already, and now by some of the torchlight from the hallway. Claudia can see the back of the hooded figure as it moves toward a bedroll and Livia's prone form. 

There's a glint of light as something smooth and metal catches the reflection of the candle and Claudia is moving again before she has time to even think about what she's doing. A knife. An assassin.

She acts with more clarity and focus than she'd ever thought herself capable of, coming like a ghost to the back of the intruder and placing her blade to the person's throat. At the same time, she uses her other hand to firmly grasp and pin the wrist of the hand holding the assassin's own knife. The person struggles briefly against her hold and then goes rigid.

“Who are you?” Claudia hisses into a nearby ear. A quiet huff escapes the person's lips before their shoulders slump slightly.

“No one,” the answer comes with a growl and a crack. A young boy's voice. 

“Why have you come? Who sent you?” she demands, pushing the sharp edge of her knife all the more snugly into the boy's throat. When he doesn't answer, Claudia forces him to turn and face her, keeping the knife hard to this throat. She plucks up the heavy metal medallion worn around his neck and inspects the words etched into its surface. They name the boy a servant of Plinius Pomponius, games master of Altinum.

Of course.

She mentally chastises herself for not having seen it coming, but quickly refocuses on her present situation. Part of her feels for this boy, given no choice in the matter and sent to do his master's bloody business. But the cold, hard, logical part of her knows she can't let him go, either. He will seek to finish his mission no matter what, likely upon pain of death. 

The only thing to do, then, is speed him on his way.

Without another word, Claudia gives a solid flick of her wrist and slices the knife across the boy's throat. Blood gushes from the wound, splashing across her own arm and chest before she can push his body backwards, where he collapses in a heap onto the dirt floor. She stands and looks down at him, his eyes wide and quickly glazing, hand clutched loosely at his throat. An overwhelming wave of guilt and sorrow washes over her at the sight and she finds herself wobbling on her feet, nearly stumbling backwards--but then strong, gentle hands clasp her shoulders and hold her steady.

She lets herself slump into Livia's embrace, dropping the knife and grabbing at her hands instead, pulling them around her middle. She feels the woman nuzzle her face into the crook of her neck and land a soft kiss at her pulse point. She takes a long, trembling breath.

Finally, Claudia turns to face the taller woman, staring up into unflinching green.

“Thank you,” Livia says simply. Claudia glances down at her blood soaked robes and skin and shakes her head. A finger hooks under her chin and lifts her gaze once again to meet Livia's own. “No. No sorrow. He will meet his gods now and be free.”

“But he was so young...” she begins, but is cut off once more.

“He was a slave,” Livia counters, “This was a mercy.”

It hits Claudia like a tidal wave, the heavy meaning of Livia's words both spoken and not. Plinius sent him to kill Livia--or be killed. He didn't care which. The boy was expendable. Slaves are expendable. And Livia is a slave, too.

She takes a quick step away from the other woman, body suddenly rigid and eyes hard. 

“I will request extra guards for the ludus during your stay here. After your fight two days from now, we will leave immediately for Rome and the protection of my home,” Claudia states, firm. Livia tilts her head slightly, a crease forming in her brow, but otherwise makes no move to object or question the sudden and dramatic shift in her domina's behavior. “I have put all of us in danger,” she goes on. “But neither will I let stand this insult to my house.”

Claudia retrieves her knife from the ground, cleans the blood off as best she can, and replaces it in the sheath underneath her robes. “I will have a guard come deal with the mess.”

“Goodnight, Livia,” she finishes. The other woman gives a single nod, her face stoic but Claudia can see the questions brimming in those wide green eyes. She turns away from them, though, and is out the door as quickly as she can go without running. 

Once back in the open yard she slumps against a wall and tilts her head toward the star-strewn sky above. She closes her eyes and takes in a long, steadying breath, willing herself to focus, to calm, to move again. There's much to do, and none of it what she wants.

~*~

It becomes clear the instant Livia's opponents – because there are three of them, all very clearly practiced warriors – enter the arena that the games master of this place is not so much progressive as part of the plan to see the Pict dead and Claudia humiliated.

The arrangement had been for Livia to face someone one-on-one, as usual, but glaring now in the direction of the games master, Septimus, Claudia sees the look of gleeful satisfaction on his face and her stomach sinks.

The assassin had been just an opening salvo, then. She begins to wonder just how many of the games masters in the cities and towns where Livia had emerged triumphant might be plotting against them. It feels preposterous that so many egos might be this fragile, but then again, it is Rome. There is nothing Romans of position seem to enjoy so much as an excuse to execute schemes and petty revenges. 

Claudia turns her attention back to the sands at the first sound of metal on metal, watching as Livia parries the initial brutal strike from one of the three men slowly circling her. For her part, the woman seems untroubled by the suddenly lopsided odds, her posture as confident and practiced as ever, face stoic and eyes focused. Livia crouches slightly, swords held at the ready in either hand, and steps purposefully so that she keeps all three opponents in her line of sight and mostly at her front. They take turns attacking, testing her defenses, sounding her out.

Swallowing around a hard lump in her throat, Claudia turns again to Septimus, working hard to keep her tone low and steady.

“This is not what we agreed upon,” she says. The games master chuckles and runs a hand through the closely cropped beard at his chin. The hair is jet black and, combined with the hard angles and planes of his face, gives him the appearance of severity that his otherwise pleasant and jovial personality contradicts. He had been so welcoming, so accommodating of their retinue and Claudia's ambitions. In retrospect, she should have been more suspicious of that from the start.

Still, his demeanor remains strangely friendly and light as he addresses her.

“I do apologize,” he says. “Last minute decision, thought we would give the crowd a little extra thrill. Given your gladiator's record so far, it seemed high time we upped the stakes, don't you think? Can't have the people getting bored.”

It makes a certain sort of sense, and the man is so unflaggingly polite that, for a moment, Claudia doubts her initial assessment of the situation. Is she being overly paranoid? Gladiatorial games are, by their nature, a cutthroat enterprise. Stage the most thrilling and bloody spectacles possible, with the aim of riling up the crowds and increasing the betting pools – from which both games masters and agents like herself take a cut. Work to build the legends of the better gladiators so that their odds grow, likewise the profits when they eventually die in glorious combat. 

That is the way of things, Claudia knows it well. It has never bothered her before. But she's let herself get attached to this woman and doesn't want to see her die. It is, she realizes with sudden, crushing clarity, a fatal weakness. It furthers her resolve, stoked into being two nights prior after fending off the assassin and hearing Livia's words, to distance herself from the woman. Focus again solely on her work to build her name and, subsequently, the reputation of the Ludus Maximus and her family name. Marcus' family name, a quieter voice at the back of her mind corrects.

The fight in the arena has escalated, the three warriors now making concerted and coordinated efforts at attack. Livia continues to dodge and spin, countering their thrusts with dance-like movements and counter strikes of her own. They are all of them covered in thick sheen of sweat, several red gashes evident on limbs and shoulders. Livia is, remarkably, almost totally untouched save a bloodied nose.

Suddenly, Octavia is at her ear, whispering lowly. The feeling sends a brief shiver up her spine but Claudia schools her face into neutrality and listens without appearing to react.

“This was a set up,” the other woman says darkly. Claudia is relieved to hear someone else say it, feeling somewhat less paranoid and more certain of the machinations playing out around her. 

“I am aware,” Claudia responds quietly, not wishing for Septimus to overhear. She eyes him carefully, but his focus seems entirely on the fight.

“How will you respond?” Octavia asks, but it is more of demand. She loves this side of her friend – stubborn, loyal, unwilling to let any slight to her or her loved ones go unchallenged. Claudia knows that, whatever happens, Octavia will have her back. Avecita, too – though today the woman is absent from their group, having stayed at the villa with a slight fever.

“We return to Rome tomorrow,” Claudia says. “I will speak with my husband about what has happened and we will send out inquiries to root out the extent of the plot.” Octavia knows about the assassin – not Claudia's involvement, of course, but that someone had been sent to kill Livia and that he had been stopped by the Pict herself. It was an entirely plausible scenario, and one that would raise far fewer questions or complications than admitting the truth.

And anyway, all of that was done now. Claudia was determined to stay away from Livia, for both of their sake.

“Longinus and I are here for whatever you need. Ave, too,” her friend offers with a quick, hard squeeze of her shoulder. Claudia nods gratefully and Octavia moves back to her seat. 

She is already thinking ahead, exploring her options. Talking with Marcus, explaining all that has happened, must happen before anything else. His connections in Rome will likely be invaluable when it comes to any form of revenge, or even simply fending off further attacks. Claudia wishes she had the wherewithal to handle the situation herself, but she is severely limited by her position as a Roman woman. Everything she does must happen behind the scenes, and very carefully. There are days she yearns to pick up the sword and put all of the preening nobles in their place once and for all. But she'd never been allowed to learn how to fight that way. What she has is her mind and her words. No one has yet been able to take that from her, anyway.

Livia has killed one of the men, goring him with both swords and pushing his body back into another of her opponents, who struggles out from under the dead weight just as the woman brings the weapons around again and leaves too bloody gashes across his face. A strangled cry escapes his mangled mouth before he, too, crumples to the earth.

Blood stained, nostrils flared, Livia turns to face the final man with what Claudia can only describe as single-minded, animal-like intensity. They circle one another for a moment, the crowd in near riots all around them. The noise is nearly deafening, to the point that it becomes one indistinguishable wash of sound. She notices that Septimus' demeanor has shifted rather dramatically, his face fallen.

The two warriors on the sands lunge at one another suddenly, Livia's double blades clashing with the man's trident. He catches the swords and jerks them away, then thrusts forward and down, pulling one leg out from under the Pict. Livia grunts in pain as one of the sharpened points cuts through her thigh muscle, drops one of her swords, but hops back and manages to stay upright.

Sensing an opening, the man whirls the trident around his head and attempts to catch Livia at the neck, but she ducks under the blow and spins away again, the triple prongs missing her by a breath. The man off balance, Livia pushes off her good leg and up, plunging her sword deep into the man's exposed flank. He drops the trident, face stunned, mouth frozen in a wide 'o' as the blade is buried fully into his side. Livia snarls, a wild growl bursting from her lips, as she sheaths the sword in his flesh. A hush falls over the arena as the two figures pause for one heavy moment. Then Livia pulls back, kicking the body off her sword and onto the ground, blood showering from the wound and onto her already gore soaked front.

As soon as the third dead body comes to rest on the sand, the crowd loses its mind with cheers. Flowers are thrown from the stands to litter the ground all around Livia as she stands and takes heaving breaths, sword hung at her side.

Claudia is on her feet before she knows it, giving one loud shout of triumph before she realizes what she's done and settles herself back into her seat. She sees Octavia's knowing and proud smirk out of the corner of her eye. Longinus is clapping wildly as well, laughing incredulously at what he just witnessed.

Septimus looks less than pleased, but at least has the good grace to maintain a polite facade. 

“Well done, Claudia,” he says, standing to face her. She stands to meet him. “Your warrior woman has proved herself quite formidable. I wish you luck in Rome. You will need it, I think.”

Septimus bows his head slightly and Claudia returns the gesture, though she feels her blood boil at the comment.

“I thank you for your hospitality, Septimus,” she says evenly. “The House of Gratidius will think fondly of our time in the provinces when we have our debut at the Colosseo.”

She feels no remorse over using her husband's family name as a reminder of their elevated position. It's a well-placed dig and Claudia feels no small amount of satisfaction when she notices the cool look that passes over Septimus' features. Finally, he snorts and shakes his head, and they take their leave of one another. It leaves her with an unsettled feeling in the pit of her stomach, but she can't yet name it.

Their retinue makes its way back to the villa, where Claudia has already arranged for their travel caravan to be ready and waiting so they may leave immediately. With everything that's happened she has no desire to push their luck any further by spending more time than needed in that place.

They wait while Livia is tended to by the villa's medicus, her body hastily cleaned of gore and her wounds carefully salved and bandaged. Claudia is told the gash on her thigh required sewing together and will need constant minding to avoid corruption. She assigns her personal medicus to stay with Livia for the duration of their journey back to Rome, along with a few trusted guards, but does not go to visit her in person.

She wants to. It takes every ounce of will power Claudia has not to make her way back to the litter that carries the woman. She wants to see her, make sure she is recovering well, but forces herself to be content with the information relayed by her guards. 

It begins to rain a short ways into their journey and Claudia invites both Octavia and Avecita to join her in the well protected confines of her personal carrucae dormitoriae. The covered wagon was a simple affair as these things went, made of thick wood and lined with furs and pillows but otherwise lacking the decorative flourishes favored by the higher born nobles who traveled in similar luxury. Claudia much preferred riding her horse, but given the weather and a desire to make her good friends more comfortable, it was no great hardship to retire there instead. The only downside was the incessant and loud clacking of the iron-shod wheels as they ground their way down the road. On the plus side, it would make it impossible for anyone outside to hear their conversation.

“I took the liberty of talking to a few of Septimus' servants,” Ave says, arching a single eyebrow as she pops a grape into her mouth and chews thoughtfully for a moment. They've only recently settled in and had been indulging in light banter previously. The shift in topic catches Claudia mildly off guard and she shifts to regard her friend more directly.

“I thought you were ill,” she offers, droll. 

“When is this woman not up to something, though,” Octavia says, smiling. Ave returns her grin, flashing two sets of brilliant white teeth. How she keeps them so bright Claudia will never know.

“I get bored,” Ave counters, shrugging. “And anyway, Claudia, we'd both noticed how the games masters in each town were pulling little stunts with you. After the attack on Livia, I thought maybe I'd do some digging, find out if there was something more going on.”

“You shouldn't have done that,” Claudia interjects, not unkindly. “These men can be very dangerous. You know that.”

“You think I can't handle myself?” Ave scoffs. Claudia opts not to answer, and instead purses her lips tightly together. “Anyway, you should thank me. I found out a few things that I think you're going to want to know.”

That gets her attention, and Claudia feels a niggle of doubt in her chest. What if the servants had caught wind of her affair with Livia and told Ave about it? No, that couldn't be. Knowing Ave and Octavia as she did, they would have already been mercilessly teasing her if they'd known. So what, then, was this piece of information? What didn't she already know?

“You know we both adore Marcus,” Octavia says. The knowing glance that passes between her and Avecita doesn't go unnoticed by Claudia. She shifts restlessly in her seat. “So please also know that what she's about to tell you does not come from a place of spite. We just think you should know.”

“Know what?” Claudia asks, unable to keep the worry and impatience from her tone.

“Septimus is part of a plot to see Livia defeated in the arena, and you cut down to size,” Ave explains. “But it goes deeper than that, too. It's about Marcus.”

Claudia knits her brows in confusion. What on Earth had her good husband gotten himself involved in?

“He's in debt, Claudia,” Octavia says flatly. “A lot of it.”

“What?” she asks, incredulous. The House Gratidius and the Ludus Maximus were not among the greatest names or institutions in Rome, but they enjoyed a comfortable position among the nobility. They had money. At least, she'd assumed they did. Claudia was not allowed to deal directly with their finances.

“Apparently Marcus inherited much of the debt from his father,” Ave jumps back in. “And he's been betting on everything from gladiators to cock fighting out in the provinces, hoping to make the money t pay off those debts. He does it through brokers, though, and away from Rome itself so as not to tarnish the family name.”

“But apparently he hasn't been totally successful at either thing,” Octavia takes over again. It's almost dizzying, watching her two friends bat the conversation back and forth as though it were a ball. “He owes quite a lot of money to various games masters and traders all throughout the area, and they had already been planning ways of seeking repayment in whatever form possible when you turned up with Livia.”

Bile rises in Claudia's throat, brought on by the anger she feels suddenly boiling in her gut at the situation – at Livia's unwitting part in it, at her own short-sightedness, at her husband for keeping so much from her, at the men responsible for such petty treachery. 

“This is ridiculous,” is all she can manage in response. Her friends look at her with worried and sympathetic expressions. Claudia runs a hand down her face and sighs. “I should have seen it. I should have known something was off...”

“Stop that,” Octavia interrupts. “None of this is your fault, Claudia.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” she says. “It's still going to be on me to fix it. It always is.”

Claudia thinks about all the times she'd been the one to push Marcus into investing in certain gladiators, taking on specific trainers and teachers, making improvements to the ludus, even in establishing particular political alliances. Cleaning up his messes when his personal life threatened to cause problems for their house and their business. Marcus was good at many things – personable, charismatic, smart – but prone to stumbling blindly into situations that required far more nuance and diplomacy. And he would sink into depressions for days after something had gone wrong, leaving Claudia to pick up the pieces. And she loved him, so she did it without complaint. Eventually he would come back and things would go well for a time. He would be more involved, more productive, until something (or someone) distracted him just enough to cause the whole precariously balanced thing to crumble once again.

She'd never thought the trouble went this deep, though. Certain things click into place. Perhaps all this time Marcus' distraction had been more to do with the debt left to him by his father. It was a hell of a secret burden to have carried all this time, after all. Claudia feels an increasing affection toward him even as she wants to claw her hair out over his stubborn and pig-headed decision not to tell her about it.

“You don't have to do it alone.”

Avecita's measured tone snaps Claudia out of her thoughts. Her friend stares at her evenly, dark brown eyes serious but also with a touch of mischief in them. She knows that look all too well. It's comforting.

“This isn't your danger to face, though,” she says, offering what she knows is weak resistance to the implied offer. Ave and Octavia both guffaw in response, and Claudia is hard pressed not to laugh at them. A grin pulls at one side of her mouth.

“You know you can't get rid of us even if you tried,” Ave counters. “We've two days on the road before we're back in Rome. I suggest we use that time well, and put our heads together to come up with a plan.”

Octavia nods in agreement, looking almost gleeful at the prospect of getting her hands dirty. Claudia has such love for them both, and she is grateful for their support, truly. But she also feels that niggling doubt coil into something more intense, darker – something like dread. Because whatever they decide to do will put them all in very real danger, will entwine them in the complicated web of Roman politics. There may be no going back.

Swallowing around the hard lump in her throat, Claudia takes a breath and nods. Ave claps her hands together in triumph, Octavia gives an impish grin, and they set to work. As they talk, Claudia does her best not to let her thoughts wander to the litter at the back of their caravan where the Pictish woman lays recovering. She'll be inevitably ensnared in their plot, too, and Claudia feels a terrible mixture of both guilt and elation at the knowledge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary of Terms:  
> * carrucae dormitoriae = a covered, four-walled carriage used by Roman nobles for travel (http://www.forumtraiani.com/roman-carriages)
> 
> How interested are y'all in getting a chapter or section from Livia's POV? I'm playing with the idea at the moment, but can't decide if it's better to leave her as more of a mystery or to fill in some of the gaps (not right away, mind you, but maybe in a few chapters). Would love your thoughts!


	6. Best Laid Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Good medical help is hard to find, but loyal friends are worth their weight in gold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My continued and enormous gratitude for all the kudos and comments! I've been a writer for a long time and don't often get this kind of instant feedback, and frankly, it's been helping fuel me for my original works as well. Keep them coming! I'm always open to questions/suggestions, etc.

Livia's wound turns.

One of the guards brings word on the day they are to arrive back at the ludus in Rome. They are a few hours out on a well used road, its cobbles already deeply rutted. Claudia, Octavia, and Avecita have spent the last two days deep in conversation, laying out their plans. They've been so successful at diverting Claudia's attention, in fact, that she's barely thought of the Pictish woman for the last 24 hours, assuming she is being well cared for and word would come if anything else is needed.

When it comes, Claudia feels as though her whole body becomes ice, hard, cold and heavy. Her gladiator is running a fever, says the guard, and is becoming delirious with it. The cut on her thigh has begun to ooze and crust a yellow substance. It is corrupted.

She excuses herself from her friends immediately, catching the startled but curious looks they give her as she hurries inelegantly from the carriage. All of her previous resolve not to see Livia for the time being is gone in a flash, evaporated like dew in the hot, late summer air.

Livia is carried in a litter near the back of their caravan, the narrow vehicle pulled along by a listless brown mule. There is a flimsy shade canvas thrown across its top so that she is at least protected from the relentless sun, but fat black flies swarm her face and the wound itself. She lies on her back, half conscious and sweating, head lolling with each shutter and shake of the wheels beneath. Claudia hurries to her side and gently places a hand across her burning forehead.

“Give me your fan,” she snaps at a nearby servant. The man, in charge of driving the mule, immediately hands over the item—bunches of horse hair tied into a bone handle—which Claudia promptly uses to swat away the flies. “I'm so sorry,” she whispers to Livia. An incoherent mutter is all that comes in reply.

Claudia stoops to inspect the wound itself. The bandage covering it is black with long dried blood, yellowed around the edges. It is clearly at least a day old and her own blood boils at the realization that her medicus has apparently defied her orders and left the woman unattended for so long. It's no wonder the gash as gone bad.

She will deal with the man soon enough, but her immediate concern is to see the wound properly tended. Claudia barks at the guard who brought word in the first place, orders him to bring her fresh bandages, clean water, and the private collection of herbs she keeps in the carriage. Her mother taught her a few things, years ago, and Claudia always continued to study and learn, quietly, in her rare spare moments, sending discreet servants to acquire the latest texts, picking the brains of the low women and men who ply their own medical trades in the streets of the city. Her mother taught her to trust the practical, everyday wisdom of the healers who were unencumbered by propriety. Too many of the revered but crackpot healers earned large sums by telling the nobility they could cure anything and everything with potions and techniques that did more to harm than heal.

Still, in the grand scheme of things Claudia feels woefully inadequate and ill-prepared. She has little cause or ability to get hands-on experience, since the ludus employs its own medicus. And as in all things, as the domina of a prominent house, she is not expected to lower herself to such work.

But she knows how to keep a wound clean, gods be damned, and the basics of how to nurse a corrupted injury back to health.

“Where is the medicus?” she growls as her guard returns with the requested items. Claudia sets about wetting and then peeling away the old bandage, careful not to let it pull too much at the crust that joins it to the flesh around the wound.

“I am here, domina.” The man in question appears suddenly at her side, nervously shuffling his feet, eyes already downcast.

“How did you let this happen?” Claudia demands. She continues to work as she talks, unwilling to spend another moment allowing Livia's condition to go untreated. She uses a soft, wet cloth to clean around the stitches, pouring fresh water from a skin onto the wound periodically to help further wash it out.

“Apologies, domina. I checked the wound yesterday and all was well,” the medicus says, stuttering slightly over his words. His tanned skin is beaded with sweat and the fabric of his loose white tunic is dark with moisture as well. “I did not think it warranted further attention.”  
  
“Were you too _busy_ to follow orders?” she spits back. “I was very clear that she was to be tended regularly. What were you doing that you couldn't be bothered to check in?”

The medicus gulps audibly and runs his hands down his clean shaven face. “Domina, I am very so--”

“No, you know what, I don't care to hear your excuses,” Claudia snaps. She ceases her ministrations and straightens up, meeting the medicus' darting eyes with a cold, hard glare. “Once we are back in Rome, you will gather your things and leave the ludus immediately. I no longer wish to employ your services.”

His mouth drops open in shock and for a moment the man looks as though he will argue. Instead, his jaw clicks shut and he bows his head in acceptance. There are perks to her position, Claudia muses darkly. No one argues when she makes decisions about the house, at least.

The medicus shuffles away in silence and Claudia's attentions turn back fully to the delirious woman before her. She caresses the side of her face, cupping a prominent cheekbone and wincing at the heat radiating from it. Livia's eyes are closed but she continues to mumble indecipherable words. Claudia wonders if it's her native tongue. It sounds musical and rhythmic, like her accent, though the speech is slurred and heavy with delirium.

The necrotic flesh around the edges of the wound needs more cleaning than just water or alcohol can provide. She remembers something her mother taught her that turned her stomach at the time, but had proven incredibly effective. Claudia summons her guard again.

“I need you to bring me any spoiled meat you can find in the stores.” At the uncertain look the guard gives her, Claudia continues. “I need maggots.”

~*~

The caravan arrives at the ludus in Rome just as the sun is beginning to set. Claudia bids farewell to her friends, who leave to return to their respective homes under the watch of Longinus and his men. Both Avecita and Octavia have their roles to play in the plan and assure her they'll be getting to work right away.

She personally sees to it that Livia is delivered safely to her room, double checks the progress of the insects now cleaning away the dead skin at the warrior's thigh, before heading into the house to seek out her husband.

Marcus is seated at his desk, hunched low over a piece of parchment and scratching away at it with a bronze stylus. His normally close cropped hair is grown out somewhat, escaping in short, dark waves around his ears. A layer of dark stubble lines his chin and upper lip. It's unlike the man to let his appearance become even remotely disheveled, unless experiencing one of his more serious bouts of melancholy, and Claudia notes it even as she feels renewed anger and hurt at what she's recently learned about him.

“Husband,” she says after a moment of watching him work. He jumps slightly and drops the stylus. His deep brown eyes rise to meet her steady blue, and she watches as an interesting mix of emotions pass over his features. Marcus finds his composure, though, and rises to his feet to greet her properly.

“Wife.” There's a nervous current in the air between them, almost as though Marcus already knows what she's about to say. She takes a few steps forward, until she is within reaching distance, but stops short.

“We need to talk,” Claudia says, keeping her tone low and even. She wants to slap him. At her words, however, Marcus' face falls entirely, moisture suddenly welling along the bottom of his eyes. He looks tired beyond measure.

“I received your letters, Claud,” he practically whispers. “I am so very sorry.”

She'd sent word about the attacks, about how the games masters seemed to be pitted against her, but had not revealed what all she'd learned about his own role in the issue.

Without acknowledging the apology, she barrels ahead, intent on a confrontation. She'd never been one for beating around the bush.

“You put me, all of us, in serious danger.” Marcus' eyes go wide and he starts to protest, but Claudia continues. “I know about the debts.”

At that, she watches with bitter satisfaction as the color completely drains from his face. He swallows hard and his eyes fall to the floor. It's as good as a confession.

“Why didn't you _tell_ me?” she demands, her voice coming out in an angry whisper. “I could have helped you. I could have been prepared.”

“Claudia, please, let me explain,” he says, voice cracking slightly around the words.

“ _Please_ explain,” she snaps. “Because right now I am beyond furious. We could have been killed. _Livia_ almost was killed, but thank the gods she's a better fighter than you are a businessman.”

Marcus visibly winces, but makes no argument. Instead, he sits heavily in his chair, bracing his head in both hands.

“I have failed you, and for that I am truly sorry, my love,” he says finally. Claudia wills herself not to speak, instead waiting for Marcus to continue even as his discomfort and distress become all the more palpable. He sits back and takes a long, deep breath before continuing.

“The debt was left when my father died. It was all so unexpected, and I was grieving, in shock,” he explains, voice quiet and straining. “I hadn't known about any of it before I took over the ludus in his stead, but then suddenly it felt like I had every unsavory broker and greedy games master in the empire breathing down my neck. I didn't know what else to do, and I didn't want to make it your problem as well. I thought I could handle it. I'm _supposed_ to be able to handle it!”

By the end of his spiel, Marcus' voice has grown thin and cracked. He sounds so young, she thinks, and very lost. Despite her better judgment, Claudia moves to his side and places a warm, steady hand on his shoulder. They've been married for four years, and deep down she knows Marcus to be a good man. She can't help but feel empathy for him in this moment, even if she still wants to wring his neck for being so  _stupid_ and pig headed.

“We handle things together, Marcus, that's how this works,” she says, somewhat calmer now. There's something about seeing him so broken, and hearing him admit his weakness, that snaps things into focus for her. Claudia has always been a fixer, for better or worse.

“Everything feels so out of control,” he counters weakly. “I don't know what to do.”

“Your start by writing an account of everything you owe and to whom you owe it,” Claudia says firmly. “I want to see it by this time tomorrow. And I want to know exactly what all assets we have otherwise, so I know what I have to work with now. Because Marcus,” she pauses, removes her hand from his shoulder, and straightens up so that she's gazing steadily down at him. “They've come after me and my people, now. And we are going to make them _pay_.”

~*~

Claudia eschews her own bed that evening. She's still too angry at Marcus to spend the night with him, but mostly she's too distracted by concern over Livia's condition. She returns to the small, dim room where Livia sleeps fitfully on her thin cot. Oh so carefully, she sets about removing the maggots from the wound, noting with satisfaction that they appear to have done their job well. The dead, necrotic skin is gone, leaving the wound pink and angry but free from corruption.

She retrieves the poultice she'd prepared earlier and applies it to the gash, gently packing in the herbs and mash, then tightly wrapping the bandage over it and around the woman's muscular thigh. Then she pulls a thin blanket up over Livia's shoulders and tucks her in, brushing a few wet strands of curly chestnut hair from her sweat slicked forehead. It's still too warm.

Claudia falls asleep sitting on the floor, her chest and shoulders leaned over the cot, the fingers of one hand curled protectively around a toned bicep.

She wakes to the feeling of gentle fingers running through the hair on top of her head. For a moment Claudia is disoriented, forgetting where she is, why she's cramped and curled on the hard ground. But then she blinks open her eyes and the sight that greets her reminds her in stunning detail.

In the gray light of predawn, Livia smiles down at her affectionately, her green eyes blessedly clear, if tired, and the sweat gone from her skin. She says something in the same language she'd mumbled while fevered, but this time it's soft and intentional. Claudia feels herself blush even though she has no idea what's been said. But she's an allegedly noble woman who let herself fall asleep on the floor next to the bed of a gladiator, and she can't help but feel more than a little embarrassed.

She clears her throat and sits up, stretching angry back and neck muscles. “How are you feeling?”

“Much better,” Livia answers. Claudia reaches out and places her hand against that tall forehead again, humming in satisfaction to feel that it's quite cool. Livia just blinks at her and lets the faintest trace of a grin pull at her lips.

“I am very glad,” Claudia says, searching for ways to break up the heavy air between them. “Do you remember much? You had a bad fever.”

Livia shakes her head slightly. “No, not much. I remember that you helped me. I thank you.”

“Of course,” Claudia says. She feels the tips of her ears burn at the look Livia gives her, seemingly full of meaning. It jars her back to reality and the vow she'd made before, and she scrambles to her feet. “I was just doing what was right for my House. You're our best gladiator, Livia. I need you well.”

She feels the lie of it immediately, like a heavy weight on her chest, and darts her eyes away from the woman's gaze. Had Livia actually looked... _hurt_ ? 

“I'll let you get some rest,” Claudia adds, moving to step away from the cot. She needs to get outside into the fresh air, away from that damned beautiful face. But suddenly a hand grasps her fingers and holds her in place. It's not violent, just firm, solid. Claudia swallows thickly and keeps her face turned away.

  
“Stay.”

How can one word undo all of her resolve? All of Claudia's best intentions, her practicality and propriety, seem to go right out the window around this woman who barely speaks and who she knows almost nothing about. None of it makes any damn sense, but she feels almost helpless, swept along on some unnameable current that leads inexorably to  _Livia._

She turns to look and their eyes lock for a long, intense moment. Livia looks almost pleading, her face more open and soft than Claudia has yet seen it. She looks suddenly younger, less like the stoic warrior who has seen too much in her short life, and Claudia feels something give way in her chest.

Against all of her better judgment, Claudia wordlessly climbs onto the cot next to Livia, curling around the other woman's body and careful not to jostle her injuries. She rests her head in the crook of Livia's shoulder and feels more than she hears the long, contented sigh that escapes the warrior's mouth. Slowly, Claudia wills the tension from her body, letting herself relax into the embrace. Livia's breathing evens out in sleep, and Claudia follows soon thereafter.

 

“Get out of bed, you lazy—oh, uh...”

Claudia startles awake at the sound of a low, gruff voice in the room. Sunlight pours in through the doorway and around a large figure standing in it. She blinks away the sleep in her eyes and lifts a hand to shield them from the glare.

The Gaul, Guidgen, stares at the two figures entwined on the cot, face mostly stoic save a single raised eyebrow. Livia has stirred as well and gently extricates herself from their embrace, carefully guiding her long legs over the edge of the bed to come to a seated position. Claudia scrambles to push herself upright as well, pressing into the cool stone wall behind them to get around Livia and hurry to her feet.

“Apologies, domina, I did not know you were here,” Guidgen says flatly with a dip of his head.

“No need,” Claudia responds, forcing a calm authority into her tone that she certainly does not feel at the moment. “I should go.”

She spares a quick look back at Livia, who still is still seated and carefully pushing her fingers into the bandage at her thigh, tested it. She gives an almost imperceptible nod and Claudia returns the gesture before moving toward the door. The Gaul quickly moves aside for her, lowering his eyes in deference as she passes.

“You will not speak of this to anyone,” Claudia says lowly, pausing briefly to address the man. He lifts his gaze to meet hers, unblinking. “Make sure she rests,” she adds. Guidgen nods sharply.

Claudia walks swiftly away across the yard and back into the main house, trying to ignore the unsettled feeling in her guts. Cassius, the training master, is already out and warming up his muscles with a series of drills, surely taking advantage of the cooler early morning air. He eyes her steadily as she passes but says nothing.

~*~

It is three days before Octavia and Avecita return to the ludus to give their updates to an anxiously waiting Claudia. She has been heartened to track Livia's recovery in that time, though – the woman seems to heal especially quickly and is already back on her feet and training as hard as ever. The bandage is gone from her leg and only a puckered, red scar remains. Claudia has not been back to the warrior's room since her night of weakness, and Guidgen has kept quiet about what he witnessed, as far as she knows.

The three women retire immediately to Claudia's private quarters, where she'd instructed servants to leave a light meal and a jug of good wine before leaving them in private. Marcus left earlier in the day to attend to business elsewhere, and Claudia is keen to hear their news, hoping their plans have been set in motion.

Her own work is well under way. Marcus furnished the list of debts and assets – a dispiriting document if ever she'd seen one, though not utterly insurmountable – and Claudia set about budgeting and allocating and setting up above-board loans to cover as much of it as she could. It would mean selling a few of their gladiators and some minor holdings in other provinces, but nothing they couldn't weather. The trickier parts, by far, were the largest handful of debts to the houses that had already shown their hands as part of the cabal to see House Gratidius ruined entirely. It wouldn't be a simple of matter of paying them the money owed.

That was where Octavia came into play – or specifically, her husband and his men. As they sit and pick at the food, sip heavily at the wine, Octavia gives her good news.

“Longinus has agreed to provide security for the ludus until such time as this _problem_ is dealt with,” she explains with a proud smirk. “He's rounding up what of his men are available and willing and should arrive in a day or two.”

“You both have my gratitude,” Claudia says, raising her cup of wine in toast. “And what of payment?”

“Longinus will do it as a favor, out of respect to you and Marcus,” Octavia says. “His men are to be paid appropriately, once Livia fights and wins in the Colosseo. I suspect they will all be betting on her as well.”

Avecita chuckles and raises her own cup before finishing it off it one slug. “Smart men are in such short supply these days,” she drawls before pouring herself another serving.

“And you, Ave?” Claudia asks, turning to her somewhat more inebriated friend. “What news?”

  
“I thought you'd never ask,” Ave says, pushing herself into a more upright position on her cushions. Octavia smirks and playfully slaps at her arm.

“Don't look too pleased with yourself.”

“If only I wasn't so damn good at what I do,” Ave shoots back, cocky as ever. Octavia shakes her head and smiles, but says nothing. Claudia simply arches a vaguely impatient eyebrow, which finally prompts her friend to get to the point.

“I made inquiries through my _dear_ husband's networks, mostly of the less savory variety. You wouldn't believe the sorts of things and people he gets into. Or maybe you would. But anyway, the benefit is that you can find out all sorts of things by placing the right amount of coin in the filthiest of hands,” she explains somewhat gleefully. “The biggest tidbit is this: Marcus' father is _alive.”_

A gasp escapes Claudia's lips before she can stop it. Octavia looks nonplussed, so she can only assume Ave has already filled her in, as usual.

“What? How?” she blurts. As far as she knew, the elder Marcus died shortly after she and his son were married. He'd gone on an expedition to Alexandria to seek out new gladiators but word had come that he'd died at sea, when a storm wrecked the ship that carried him south.

“It seemed incredible, I know,” Ave goes on. “I double checked my sources, though. Marcus Cato is alive and well and living in Alexandria under an assumed name. Part of his scheme to escape his debts and the bad blood between him and these same games masters that are after you now. There's a sizable bounty on his head--or was, when they thought he was still alive. It didn't officially pass to his son, but it might as well have.”

Claudia's mind reels with the information. She pinches the bridge of her nose and squeezes her eyes shut for a moment, trying to center her thoughts. If Marcus Cato is indeed alive, then Marcus Caius, her husband, has the right to know. But what would that mean for the ludus? For Marcus' status as the head of the House? For their life as she knows it?

“It's a lot to take in, I understand,” Octavia says kindly, placing a warm hand across Claudia's knee. “But we have an advantage now, knowing what we know. As far as Avecita's informants are aware, none of the games masters know Marcus Cato is alive. We can use that.”

“How?” Claudia chokes out, immediately ashamed of the way her emotions suddenly bubble up and make her voice crack. She rubs at her eyes and takes a steadying breath.

“If we can get to him before anyone else finds out,” Ave chimes in, “we can leverage that. Ransom him as a sort of trade, to get the cabal to lift the vendetta against you, on Livia, on Marcus Caius.”

“In exchange for his father's _life?_ ” Claudia asks, incredulous. The sudden shift jars her mind back into focus. “We are not doing that, Ave.”

“Claudia,” her friend says seriously. “You already thought the man was dead. He lied to his own son and daughter-in-law, left you all to weather the shit storm he'd conjured in the first place. You owe him nothing.”

“Marcus will never allow it,” she counters. “When he finds out his father is still alive, in spite of everything, he won't want him killed!”

“We won't tell Marcus,” Octavia says then. Claudia's bright blue eyes immediately turn on her. “Listen, Claudia, you know this is the only way. There isn't enough money in the world to stop these men. It's their precious honor on the line and they want blood. If we can give them the blood of the man responsible for the trouble in the first place, it will likely appease them enough to leave the rest of you alone.”

“You really believe that?” Claudia asks. She's fighting the urge to yell, tamping down hard on the fire burning in her chest. She's angry with her friends for suggesting such a thing but angrier still at being put into this situation in the first place, and livid at the idea that Avecita and Octavia might well be _right_.

“I believe that finding the elder Marcus, at the very least, is a good place to start,” Ave says. “After that, and after we talk to the man, then we can decide how to proceed. We don't have to decide now.”

“And how do we go about fetching a man – one who doesn't want to be found, I might add – all the way from fucking _Egypt_?” Claudia spits. She rarely curses, but this feels like a special occasion.

Avecita leans back further in her seat, stretching her legs while taking another long drink from her cup before answering.

“I will go.”

“What?” Octavia blurts out. Claudia is just as surprised by the assertion, but can't help but smirk internally at how outraged her friend is at the very idea. Finally, something the two of them hadn't shared with each other beforehand.

“Dear husband has a trading trip coming up that will take him through Alexandria. I'm going to insist on accompanying him, for once. And I'm going to send word ahead to the contacts I've already made there, to arrange assistance with the matter.” She looks positively smug, dark brown eyes twinkling.

“You can't be serious, Ave,” Octavia says, brows knit in consternation. “That would be ridiculously dangerous.”

“Your point being?” her friend shoots back. At the dark look Octavia gives her in return, Ave turns suddenly gentle and serious. “O, really, I'll be all right. We have guards, and I am exceedingly clever.” She says the last bit with a soft playfulness, reaching out to squeeze Octavia's bare ankle, which is just inches away.

“I still don't like it,” Octavia grumbles.

“And it's too much to ask,” Claudia adds. “I so appreciate everything you've done for me, Ave, but this isn't your mess to clean up or put your life on the line for.”

Avecita lets out a puff of air and rolls her eyes. “I will jump at the chance to _do_ something with my life, thank you very much. It will be nice to get out of the city and explore an entirely new place, frankly. The Library may have burned down but Alexandria is still full of knowledge and history, and I intend to absorb as much of it as I can. Maybe even leave behind some of my own.”

Claudia can't help but chuckle. Perhaps this would be just the opportunity Ave deserves, the chance to explore the world a little, maybe even leave her mark on a small part of it. The woman may be frustratingly cocky, but she backs it up by actually being ridiculously intelligent.

And Claudia can't think of a better way to proceed. She's still certain that actually allowing the elder Marcus to be killed is not to become part of the plan, but finding him and forcing him to take responsibility seems like a good enough bet.

She'll find a way to pay Avecita back for her help. Once Livia is allowed into the games at the Colosseo and Claudia has had some time to build their finances back up, all will be well and accounts settled. She has to believe it.

“All right,” Claudia concedes. Octavia looks aghast but holds her tongue. “You will go to Alexandria, taking the utmost caution and never traveling without guard, and find Marcus Cato. Bring him back to Rome if at all possible. Octavia, you may stay here in my home in the meantime. Since your husband will be here anyway, it would be cruel to leave you alone. And anyway, I could stand your company.”

That finally earns a low laugh from the woman, whose shoulders relax somewhat as well.

“Fine then,” Octavia says. “We've got ourselves our own little cabal, haven't we?”

Avecita lets out a deep, belly laugh at that and falls so that her head rests in Octavia's lap. Raising her cup of wine into the air above her face, she cheers. “To the Cabal of Delinquent Roman Noblewomen!”

Claudia shakes her head but raises her own cup in toast before tipping back a long pull of the blood red liquid.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alexandria, the city, is mentioned very much on purpose here. Many thanks to the user who left the comment that got me thinking about this. You'll have to wait and see how it becomes more relevant to your interests....


	7. What's In A Name?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plans are set in motion, an old friend comes through, and preparations begin for Livia's grand debut in Rome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends. First of all, my sincere apologies for the long delay getting this chapter done. It's been a fuckin' month, I tell you what. Long story short, I had a pretty gnarly bicycle accident and needed some time for recovery, as well as catching and keeping up with a ridic busy schedule. This story necessarily fell by the wayside for a bit.
> 
> But I'm doing better and back at it again, so you have my vow that I'll be working to keep the updates rolling on a more regular basis again. And I'm zeroing in on what the final chapter count will look like, too, so there's that. I hope you enjoy! There's some unabashed fandom red meat in this chapter. No shame in this game!

“What news from our raven?”

Octavia looks up from the roll of parchment she'd received from a messenger just a moment ago.

“They are underway to Alexandria and anticipate arriving in a few days, weather and gods allowing,” she answers. Claudia nods. Her friend has been extra tense since the departure of Avecita and Claudia suspects it will be so until the woman returns safely. Still, she tries to offer what comfort she can, setting Octavia and her husband up with a well appointed room within the villa and making sure to keep the woman occupied with various tasks.

Today, however, Claudia is headed to see the games master of Rome, Decimus. It is Marcus who must accompany her on this errand, as they will be negotiating Livia's place in the fights, along with several other of their best gladiators. The Emperor Hadrian has called for a whole months' worth of games to commemorate recent victories in the north – _some against Livia's own people_ , Claudia can't help but note darkly. It will be a prime time for the Ludus Maxiumus and its warriors to shine, to bring glory and, hopefully, money, to House Gratidius and better secure a future for them all.

“She will return to us well and whole,” Claudia says kindly, reaching out to lightly touch Octavia's arm. “Ave is too stubborn for anything else.”

Octavia grins and sucks in a calming breath.

“Good luck to you today, friend,” she offers in return. Claudia smiles her thanks and takes her leave, gathering up her husband and heading out into the cool morning air to seek an audience with their old friend Decimus.

It is not a term of endearment so much as a truth to call Decimus “old friend.” The aging games master had been quite close with the elder Marcus and holds both his son and Claudia in warm regard. They have always enjoyed an easy, trusting relationship with the man, and Claudia hopes to use that to their advantage today.

After being guided into the shady confines of his villa by a single, bald headed servant, Decimus greets the pair from a reclined position amidst piles of pillows at the foot of a long, shallow pool in the center of an open roofed room. Brightly colored tile mosaics cover the floor and walls of the room, which is appointed with a riot of broad-leafed green plants, some flowering in pinks and reds and yellows. Lily pads glide in the shallow pool, their white flowers already wilted or gone entirely as autumn approaches. Claudia has always loved Decimus' home – it borders on opulent, but his focus on natural elements keeps it from stepping firmly into garish.

The air is fragrant and clean, and Claudia breathes it in deeply as she and Marcus move to sit across from the man.

“You'll forgive me if I don't rise to greet you properly,” Decimus says. “This old body is not so compliant as it once was.”

“It's no bother, old friend,” Marcus says kindly. Decimus chortles, the waddle of his chin dancing as he does.

“ _Old_ being the operative word, I'm afraid,” he jokes.

“Your body may not be up to your standards these days,” Claudia chimes in, “but I suspect your mind is sharper than that of the entire Senate.”

“You flatter me, _principissa_ ,” Decimus says, his gray eyes sparkling. “Now let us get on with the more important business, shall we? What have you to offer the Emperor for his glorious games? I hear tell your warrior woman proved herself quite the worthy gladiator in the provinces.”

“She did,” Claudia answers, solemn. “Has word traveled so far and so fast?”

Decimus guffaws. “My dear, you know how quickly news travels these days. Rome's gossips are the finest in the land.”

“Did they also tell you of the plot to see her killed, and me humiliated?” She sees Marcus wince out of the corner of her eye, but keeps her gaze steady on the games master. Decimus looks suddenly serious as he nods and answers.

“I did, _principissa_ , and I would that it were not so. But Rome, as we all know, is a den of vipers on its best day. I cannot say I was surprised at the news.” Using a gnarled wooden staff, Decimus slowly props himself into a more upright position, groaning quietly as he does. “I have already sent out my people to root out details of this plot, in fact, and have discovered its main player, should you care to know.”

Claudia's eyebrows shoot up and she leans forward slightly in her seated position. She feels Marcus' hand grasp lightly at her forearm, holding her in place.

“We would be grateful for any information that might help us,” Marcus says, grave. Claudia feels a knot form in the pit of her stomach – what if Decimus has also heard about Marcus' father and reveals it to him now? She pulls air through her nose and out again, willing herself to remain calm.

“You know I loved your father, Marcus,” Decimus continues. “I was not fully aware of how great his debts had become before his death, but my people tell me they are not insubstantial.” Claudia feels the tension leave her body. He doesn't know. “I am sorry this has now come to haunt you and your lovely wife.”  
  
“Thank you, Decimus, you are now and always have been a great friend to House Gratidius,” Marcus says.

“There are several men, nobles of varying rank and scattered across the empire, who are intent to see your house fall. Most of them merely want money and some modicum of vengeance. But there is one more powerful man at the center of this cabal about whom you should be the most concerned,” Decimus goes on. He pauses and closes his eyes, sighing, as though exhausted at the very prospect of relating the tale. “Senator Spurius Jason Rusonius – do you know him?”

“We have met in passing,” Marcus replies, brow furrowed. Claudia's ears perk up at the name and she commits it immediately to memory, though she too has only passing acquaintance with the man. It's strange, though—she has no memory of his name appearing in the accounting of the elder Marcus' debts.

“He is your puppet master, and the most dangerous of the group. He is not after your money, is not owed a cent,” Decimus explains, as though in answer to Claudia's unspoken question.

But if the man is owed no money, why then would this senator have such a strong interest in seeing them undone? The knot of worry returns to Claudia's gut and she waits for Decimus to continue, hoping for insight while fearing it at the same time.

“What does he want, then?” Marcus asks.

“Everything.” Decimus says it heavily, as though the word itself has significant weight and sits in the space between them, dragging at the very air.

“I don't understand,” Claudia says.

“The senator is a jealous man,” Decimus begins. “Though born into nobility and raised to his current rank on the back of his family connections, he would seek fame and fortune that he can attach to his own name. He has long been obsessed with the games, with gladiators and the devotion they inspire in the masses. He also sees the dynasty that House Gratidius has built with the Ludus Maximus, the adoration given it by the crowds who cheer for your gladiators, the gratitude shown by the emperor himself for the works you do in his name. He even, I'm told, sees _you_ , my dear Claudia, as a prize to be won. He covets all that he perceives as yours, Marcus, and has decided to throw what power and influence he wields into taking it for himself.”

Both Claudia and Marcus are silent for a long moment, letting the gravity of the news sink in more fully. It seems absurd, she thinks, that a man who already has so much would seek to forcibly take yet more from another. But then, this is Rome, and when has enough ever been _enough_.

“This is absurd,” Marcus growls in frustration. “How do you stop such a man?”

“Oh my son,” Decimus says with a gentle tilt of his head, “everyone has weakness. Our job will be to sniff it out and exploit it, convince him to leave off with his petty quest.”

“Our job?” Claudia interjects.

“Of course, _principissa_ ,” he replies easily. “I would not abandon you to the wolves. And anyway, you know I love a good plot. I may not be as mobile as I once was, but my reach is still great. Best to keep it well oiled and used for noble purpose, then.”

She smiles, grateful. There are precious few trustworthy people in her world, fewer still she has the good fortune to call friend. It is always a relief to be reminded of their presence, after everything.

“Your kindness and assistance are, as always, deeply appreciated,” Marcus says, reaching out a hand to clasp it over Decimus' fingers where they curl over his cane.

“You can pay me back by winning your fights in the games,” Decimus says with a grin.

“Then you can get her in? Livia?” Claudia asks, breath quickening.

The older man laughs, eyes sparkling. “Try and stop me.”

~*~

Decimus arranges three headlining fights for their gladiators, with Livia occupying a prime spot at the height of the celebrations. It's incredibly high profile, and therefor high pressure, but Claudia is determined to see it through. The financial rewards would go far toward repaying most of their debts. But there's still the plot—and Senator Rusonius—with which to contend. They will be walking a tightrope all the way up to and after the games, and precise planning for any eventuality is a must.

For now, however, all Claudia wants is to tell Livia the news. They have a week to prepare. She leaves Marcus to his ledgers and seeks out the woman almost as soon as they return to the ludus. It's mid-afternoon and the gladiators have been given leave to rest in the shade of their quarters until after supper. She finds the warrior seated at the edge of her cot, mending a piece of leather armor. Those ridiculously deep green eyes rise to meet her as Claudia quietly pulls the curtain away from the entry, and she blinks reflexively, always caught a little off guard by the intensity of the woman's gaze.

“Domina,” the woman says, setting aside her work and standing carefully but smoothly. Her leg is healing well Claudia has noted with satisfaction.

“I have good news,” Claudia says, working around the sudden dryness in her throat. Livia remains impassive, waiting. “We have secured your place in the games, at the Colosseo. You will fight before the Emperor himself. It is a great honor.”

An almost imperceptible nod, Livia's chin dipping just slightly.

“It will be your most difficult fight,” Claudia goes on, stepping further into the small room. It's cool and dim, half lit by the sunlight streaming in at a hard angle through the doorway. Dust motes drift lazily in the air between them.

“I doubt that,” Livia says evenly. Claudia cocks her head, taken aback.

“You will no doubt face the strongest, most skilled gladiator – or even gladiators – Rome has to offer. You would be wise not to underestimate the situation.”

“I do not underestimate,” Livia replies coolly. “Still, it will not be my most difficult fight. That is already in the past.”

_Oh_ . The realization hits Claudia like a fist to the gut. She means when she was taken prisoner. Was it the only time Livia lost a fight? She wonders, and thinks of what all the woman likely lost in that battle. Before she knows what she's doing, Claudia closes the remaining distance and places a gentle hand along Livia's face, cupping her jaw.

“I am sorry,” she whispers, solemn. Livia's eyes seem to darken and her jaw works slightly, but her face remains otherwise impassive. It's difficult to read the woman's emotions, so practiced and guarded, but Claudia thinks she's learning to pick up on the small tells.

Finally, she lets her hand drop and steps back slightly. Takes a breath. “This is an enormous opportunity for all of us. You must prepare, train harder than ever before. But we also need to get your story right, even your look. Every detail matters in the Colosseo.  _Nothing_ can go wrong.”

Livia tilts her head just slightly and gives her an appraising look.

“What is wrong?”

Claudia's thoughts stumble. “Wr--What? Nothing. I just want to make sure we plan this perfectly, that you have everything you need.”

“You think I do not see?” Livia goes on, voice even, almost gentle, as though not to spook. “Something is wrong. Tell me.”

She shouldn't. Livia is a gladiator. Her job is to do what the ludus asks of her and nothing more. She doesn't need to be made aware of the plots and pressures that currently dog Claudia's every waking hour. It would be improper, but then, nothing about their relationship thus far has been _proper_. Claudia swallows hard. Against every scrap of good sense she possesses, Claudia has the overwhelming urge to tell Livia everything. Still, it is a line she's not sure she is willing to cross.

“There is much that weighs on the mind of a good Domina,” she says instead, trying to keep her voice light. “Nothing with which you need concern yourself.”

Livia simply stares at her, though, waiting. It's unnerving, the way she seems to be able to look right through all of Claudia's deflections. She sighs out a long breath, letting her shoulders sag slightly. Perhaps she owes her some of the story. Perhaps it's the least she can do, considering...everything.

Claudia gestures that they should sit, and Livia follows as the other woman lowers herself onto the edge of the cot.

Claudia lays out the gist of the story – the plot, the cabal, a little of the why and a general idea of what she and her friends are attempting to do to counteract it. Livia listens quietly, appearing stoic as ever but clearly drinking in every piece of information.

“If Ave can find Marcus' father in Alexandria, all the better,” Claudia says, winding down. “But we can't rely on that – which is why it's all the more important for you and the others not only to win in the games, but to do so so thoroughly, so gloriously, that any move made against you or the ludus will have to be punished by the Emperor himself, lest the mob turn against him for inaction.”

Livia takes a breath, her nostrils flaring slightly. “I will do this thing for you and your people,” she says, her voice dipped low, almost husky. Claudia feels strangely lighter for having told her, and at hearing the affirmation. She smiles and opens her mouth to speak, but the woman raises a hand to stop her.

“I know that I am a slave and have no place to ask you for anything, but I will ask anyway,” she says, and Claudia feels her gut twist at the word _slave_. There it is again, the cold, hard reality of the so very selfish part of her plan. Livia goes on. “If I win, if I do all that you ask of me, give me my freedom.”

The word hangs like a charge between them.  _Freedom_ . Claudia can do it – scratch that, Marcus has that power, to grant freedom to a gladiator. She could ask him for that, if Livia proves triumphant. Would he do it? Though Marcus has never been very rigid in their relationship, he is still a man steeped in the traditions and expectations of Rome. Granting freedom to a gladiator is rarely given, and then only at the end of long and illustrious careers. In other words, once a fighter is likely past their prime. Livia is hardly that. Still, the idea excites Claudia in a way she can't yet quite define. And it seems a fair thing to ask, all things considered. Livia is putting her own life on the line for people to whom she owes nothing, who in fact bought her body and are giving her little choice in the matter of it. 

Under any other circumstances, with any other gladiator, Claudia knows she likely wouldn't consider it for a moment. The fighter would do as she told him, obedient under threat of death or being sold away into hard labor.

Livia, though – Claudia knows she is only considering the request because of her feelings for the Pictish woman. She even feels hope at the idea of what freedom might mean for their relationship to one another. That, Claudia knows, is the ultimate foolishness. Livia will likely want to leave Rome altogether once freed. Claudia would, in her place. Why stay in the empire of the people who conquered and killed your people? Further, she thinks with dread in her gut, why remain with a woman who is part of that empire? Who paid for your life and sacrificed it upon the altar of blood sport?

It is a risk she will have to take. She will work for Livia's freedom, and then Livia will be free to choose what to do next. It's the right thing to do, even if it's scary and might mean Claudia loses her in the end. After all, she'd been given a similar choice once, and owed much to it and the person who made it possible.  _Mother_ . 

Claudia shakes off the memory and the sadness that always rides along with it, and she meets Livia's searching eyes with as much seriousness as she can.

“You will have your freedom,” she says, voice low and steady. Livia sucks in a short, sharp breath, nostrils flaring. And then lips are pressed against her own, and Claudia feels as though the ground has dropped from under her feet. The kiss is forceful and deep, though not desperate. It is gratitude and hope with an edge of pent up tension. She loses herself in it for a moment, one hand coming to grasp at the other woman's sharp jawline as though it has a mind of its own. They break away for breath and Livia tilts her head for a new angle, but before she can press her lips against hers once more, Claudia pulls slightly away, pushing lightly into Livia's chest to keep her back.

Her heart feels like it might thud its way through her ribs and Claudia forces herself to take a long, slow breath to calm herself. Meeting Livia's stare is out of the question. She has to focus, and those impossibly deep eyes will be her undoing. Instead, foreheads pressed together, Claudia speaks.

“Do you wish to pick a name?”

Livia leans back and Claudia finally chances a look at her. The warrior blinks a few times and seems to consider the question.

“You told me once that Livia is not your name,” she goes on. “It was given to you. For your debut in the Colosseo, then, would you pick your own name?”

It's a small offering, but one that is easily and gladly made. It seems like a reasonable offering, a token of good faith going into their deal. Claudia is gratified when she seems the barest hint of a smile tugging at one corner of the woman's (distracting, beautiful) mouth.

“You told me of the city Ave went to visit, to find the elder Marcus,” the woman begins seriously. It is not a tack Claudia was expecting, so she listens quietly, waiting. “Alexandria, you say, is a city of learning and the preservation of knowledge and culture from all over the known world. I saw the way you looked while you described it. You spoke with passion and longing.”

Claudia feels her cheeks color slightly. Had she gotten so carried away? It's true that the one time she'd had occasion to visit the city she felt completely swept up in its rhythms, in how it seemed everyone there was dedicated to the pursuit of knowledge, art, learning. And she had mourned to learn of the library that had been lost in the sacking of the city just decades before her birth—the loss of such untold treasure made her heart break into pieces. But Alexandria was still a bustling and vibrant place, a crossroads of cultures, where walking its cobbled streets one still encountered people of all different colors and creeds, speaking a dizzying array of languages. She did love it, and that clearly must have bled through in her brief description to the Pict.

“Alexandria is a great city, named for a great man,” Claudia agrees, trying to sound serious but dispassionate.

“Then that shall be my name when I fight for you. Alexandria.”

Now Claudia is sure that her cheeks are burning.  _When I fight for you_ . She must not allow the woman's words to cloud her mind, convince her that their arrangement is anything more than one of mutual, pragmatic benefit. If only her heart and points lower would take heed.

“Alexandria the Pict, then,” Claudia says with a nod. “A fitting name for our champion. Though would you mind if I called you Lexa? Just when we are alone,” she adds, feeling maddeningly off balance for it. The woman gives the faintest ghost of a nod, her plush lips pursed in a way that Claudia can't help but read as her equivalent of a smirk.

She stands then, purposefully putting some distance between them as she quickly changes the subject. “We should do something to embellish your look, too. You are already a striking figure in the arena, but perhaps we might add something of your own culture.” When Lexa gives her an inquisitive stare, she clarifies. “Do your people wear any particular armor or clothing for battle? Wear paint on their faces?” Lexa nods at that. “What do you require, then?”

“Cooled and hardened cinders from a fire, limestone powder, and water. Tools for grinding.”

Claudia goes to the doorway and peaks outside. She calls out to the nearest guard, gives him the list of items, and sends him away to fetch them. When she turns back to the little room it is to find Lexa standing dangerously close to her. She sucks in a startled gasp and tries to remain steady, but the other woman's presence puts her as off-balance as ever.

She sees Lexa move in to kiss her again but this time has the presence of mind to put a stop to it before that mouth can distract her again. Claudia places a gentle but firm palm on the woman's sternum and tilts her face down, staring hard at a spot on the dusty ground.

“I can't, I'm sorry,” she whispers, silently cursing herself for how weak she sounds. The softest touch against her chin pulls her face and eyes back up to meet Lexa's curious stare and she feels unmoored. Why this woman has such an effect on her she can't quite grasp, and it's maddening.

“Why not?” Lexa asks, not angry or demanding, but soft and steady. That's the other thing that makes Claudia so dizzy—the gladiator's ability to seem so distant and cool most of the time, her emotions perfectly bottled and hidden away, inscrutable. And then in moments like these, through the slightest shifts in tone and gaze, suddenly showing such fathomless depth. It's almost... _vulnerable_.

That is a trap she can't allow herself to fall into, for either of them. Still, with Lexa searching her face with such quiet intensity, Claudia can't entirely keep her thoughts ordered. Another compromise, then.

“I have taken advantage of you,” she begins, willing her voice to be steady and calm. “I want too much of you, and it is unfair of me to ask it, given our positions.”

“I may be a slave,” Lexa says, moving her hand to gently cup Claudia's cheek, “but my mind is my own.”

Claudia feels a clenching in her chest and a familiar, unwelcome churning in her gut. _She says that, but it's still wrong._ And it could all be a play to keep her pliant and amenable to the deal to give Lexa her freedom. She hates herself a little for being so cynical, but truth be told, it's what has kept her alive and even thriving all these years. Rome demands nothing less.

“Win your fight,” she finally says, grabbing hold of what resolve she has left. “Win your freedom, and then we can revisit...this.”

Lexa stares at her for a moment more before finally giving the subtlest of nods, her eyes heavy lidded and solemn. Claudia takes a breath and returns the gesture, offering the barest hint of a smile as she does.

A shout echos out from the training grounds—Cassius calling the fighters out for their evening sessions—and Claudia takes a step back from the other woman.

“Train well, gladiator,” she offers. Lexa arches a single, dark eyebrow at her and nods again. As Claudia leaves the small room, the guard returns with the requested items and she gestures for him to leave them within. She can only wonder what Lexa has in mind.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GLOSSARY OF TERMS  
> \------------------  
> principissa - Latin for princess, natch  
> Senator Spurius Jason Rusonius - an authentic Roman name, but yeah, this is very much on purpose. A little too on the nose? Eh, whatever, I have Feelings, OK? And it's my damn story. ;)  
> Avecita - yeah, the reference to her being their raven is also very intentional, and the name "Avecita" means "little bird" anyway, so. There's that.
> 
> LEXA. It felt like time, and a reasonably believable way to get there. Claudia's time will come....


	8. Shadows and Dust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's always darkest before the dawn.
> 
> i:e; shit's about to get real

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey THANK YOU for all the well wishes and lovely comments after my last update, it means a lot to me. And clearly inspires more writing (and so quickly, too)! Special gratitude to one of my favorite Clexa writers, faithtastic, for the shout-out of this fic on their Tumblr, too. Go read everything she's ever written, why don't ya: http://archiveofourown.org/users/faithtastic/works
> 
> We're off to the races now....

The waterfront at night is beautiful. Ave allows herself a moment to close her eyes and breathe in the potent salt-tinged air behind gently blown in from the sea, listens to the sound of small waves gently lapping against the stone banks and wooden hulls of ships bobbing at anchor nearby.

During the day the place is a buzzing hive of activity, sailors coming into port, merchants hawking wares, dirt-covered children begging and picking pockets, women with painted faces plying their own trades. In the late evening hours, though, things are considerably more quiet, and Ave enjoys the change of pace from what her time in Alexandria has thus far been. Her husband's business has kept them very busy for much of the time, and she's had to play the obedient wife and help-meet during his various dealings.

Still, staying quiet and out of the way serves her purposes well (even if it does offend every fiber of her being). It gives her just enough space to send out inquiries of her own, using the handful of black market dealers befriended via her husband's work—men who don't really care for the man, but hardly mind the attention of his attractive, intelligent wife. Ave is not so much a flirt, though, as she is able to match wits and ribald barbs with the best of them. And there are many men for whom such a thing is a rare enough commodity that she has built trusting, professional relationships with more than a few.

It's through them that she's been able to track down the elder Marcus' whereabouts without much trouble, just a few days into their stay in the city. Turns out the sudden presence of a clearly well educated and obviously Roman born contractor has not gone unnoticed, his attempt at “starting a new life” made all the more laughable because, she's learned, Marcus Cato is apparently right back to his old tricks. He's already made a name for himself—going simply by Kain, now—facilitating materials and labor for the massive construction works now underway by the Emperor's own architect, Decriannus. In the wake of years of civil war that only recently ended, it's become prime time for businessmen, both savory and less than, to move in and turn a profit. From what Ave has heard through her various sources, Kain has proven to be a shrewd but mostly trustworthy dealer, though known to cut corners whenever he can get away with it. He's already gathered a few men who, if not precisely enemies, do not speak of him in terribly fond terms.

Ave's momentary enjoyment of the peace and quiet of the quay is broken when her personal guard, Blandus, taps her lightly on the shoulder and gestures toward a low brick structure set back a little ways from the street.

“That's his place,” he says evenly, his dark eyes serious. Blandus had protested the whole plan, of course, worried for her personal safety and the fact that he's mostly responsible for it--under threat not of her husband's wrath so much as that of his sister, Octavia. Ave smiles slightly at the memory of how her friend had first insisted on setting her up with a personal guard not of her drunken husband's choosing, but one, she said, they could both trust implicitly. Being that both Octavia and Blandus had no inheritance and no prospects after being orphaned as young children, the job was as good as anything he was likely to find. Ave's husband, though a lout, did pay reasonably well. And it was good to have a friendly face around to have her back, even though Blandus could at times be maddeningly overprotective.

Ave takes in the facade of the building before her, noting that it's one of the newer structures in its row, with freshly plastered walls and a finely crafted, heavy wooden door. She takes a step toward it but stops when she feels a firm hand placed on her shoulder.

“Please don't do anything stupid,” Blandus says, unsmiling. With his curly, dark brown hair well beyond being in need of a trim and falling into his eyes a little, Ave has to chuckle at how like an over-serious young patrician he looks just then. She scoffs and bats his hand away.

“As if I'd even be capable of such a thing,” Ave says, cocky, before giving a lopsided grin and continuing. “Besides, if I go and get myself killed, your sister will _murder_ us both. And you know I'd never do anything to break her heart.”

Despite clearly still not being entirely placated, Blandus can't help but smile a little before forcing it off his face, replacing it with a firm scowl.

“Go on then, let's get this over with.”

The door is unbarred, and Ave pushes it open and walks into a small room lit by a warm, crackling fire in an iron brazier at its center. A desk is pushed against the far wall, with a well worn chair before it and the desk surface covered in scraps of parchment, an abacus, and various writing tools. There is no one else in the room with them save a snowy white cat that lounges indifferently on the one window ledge overlooking the waterfront outside.

She turns to Blandus, who simply shrugs in response. Just then a door at the back of the room creaks open and discharges the figure of an older man clad in a long, black robe, his salt and pepper hair grown long at both his temples and his chin. He's well kept, though, the beard recently and finely trimmed, the robe featuring delicately embroidered embellishments in gold thread along its edges. He meets their eyes immediately, clearly aware that he had guests before entering the room. He nods politely and comes to a respectful distance from them, hands clasped behind his back.

“Good evening, friends, how may I help you?” he says.

Ave, never one for dancing around a thing, looks the man dead in the eye and gives him her most dazzling smile.

“Marcus Cato.”

The pleasant mask slips immediately from the man's face, replaced for a flash by fear--but then covered just as quickly by an icy appraisal.

“Who are you?” he asks coldly. His hands drop to his sides and she notices the anxious twitch of his long, somewhat gnarled fingers. Blandus steps into place more closely at her back, just to her right. The cat in the window stretches and yawns, letting out a soft mewl as it does.

“I am a friend of your son and his wife, and I have come to bring you home to repay your debts,” Ave says. “Unless you're very keen to see your only child and his beloved killed by those to whom you owe these debts and the House Gratidius destroyed entirely, of course.”

The blunt statement has its intended effect. Marcus' face blanches and he swallows thickly before seeming to slump, his posture loosening and a single hand going to run heavily across his face.

“How is my son?” he asks finally, his voice gravelly and weary.

“Alive. He doesn't know the same of you, though.”

The elder Marcus seems to perk up slightly at this news. He moves slowly to the desk, pulls the chair out from under it and sits heavily. The wood and leather creak loudly, and the cat leaps from its perch in alarm before seeming to compose itself again. It stalks across the room and jumps into the man's lap, curling into a ball and settling back into contended purring as Marcus begins absently scratching its ears.

“Good,” he says after a moment. Ave barely stops herself from reaching out to slap him, feels her hand curl into a fist on instinct.

“Good?” she asks, incredulous. “You're glad your son thinks you're _dead_?”

“Better he think I died and left him in debt than that I ran away from it all,” Marcus says simply. “Marcus Cato is dead. I no longer deserve the name.”

“Very well, _Kain_ ,” Ave says, practically spitting the name into the air between them, “I'm not here for your self pity. I'm here to get proof that the man who incurred the debts is still living, therefor absolving his son of the responsibility. Whatever you choose to call yourself is not my problem.”

“I won't go back to Rome,” he says, firm. “I'm building a life here. I have commitments. Decriannus relies on me for his projects. We're rebuilding Alexandria, better than it ever was. It will be the crown jewel of the Mediterranean.”

Ave rolls her eyes and snorts derisively. “Yeah, yeah, you're a precious fucking flower,  _Kain_ , completely indispensable.”

“Ave.” Blandus says her name quietly. A gentle warning. But she's on a roll.

“What kind of man tricks his own son into thinking he's dead and then leaves him holding a bag so big that people want to see him destroyed for it?” she goes on, keeping her voice low but her tone positively biting. “A _coward,_ not a man. You have no idea the trouble you left in your wake.”

He stands suddenly, the feline leaping unhappily to the floor and hissing at Ave for good measure. She narrows her eyes at the animal, but her attention quickly returns to Marcus.

“I will ask you to leave now, woman,” he says, enunciating each word with a hard clip. Before she can argue, Blandus' hand is at the small of her back, centering her in the moment. She takes a calming breath and straightens, tilting her chin up slightly so that she regards him over the bridge of her nose.

“Very well,” she says. “You're the one who has to live with your failure. We'll bid you goodnight.”

And with that, Ave turns sharply on her sandal-clad heel and exists the building in a flutter of billowing robe. Blandus is quick to follow, closing the door behind him as they go. Back out on the waterfront, Ave only comes to a stop once they've reached a curve in the road that will eventually lead them back to the brothel where her husband has made camp for the evening. She rubs at her forehead and lets out a frustrated huff.

“I had hoped the man would be a least a little remorseful,” Ave growls. “But this, at least, makes plan B far, far easier for me to pursue.”

“I'm afraid to ask,” Blandus drawls.

“Then don't. The less you know the better.”

“That's not how this works, Ave,” he shoots back, concern etched back into his features. “I can't keep you safe if I don't know what you're up to.”

“How about for now you just take me to a warm bed and we forget about all this for the night?” she offers instead, running a single finger along her guard's wide jawline. Blandus scowls and flicks his head away from the touch.

“Don't change the subject. And don't treat me like an idiot.”

“What? You didn't complain last time,” she shoots back, dropping the sultry facade almost immediately.

“Yeah well,” he starts, sniffs, and tries again. “That was before I knew you were _actually_ in love with my sister.”

It stops her in her tracks for a moment, but Ave is nothing if not a superb actor in the face of people trying to make her talk about her  _feelings_ . Of course Blandus knows. It doesn't matter. And it certainly doesn't mean she can ever do anything about it. She won't do that to Longinus, and anyway, Octavia would probably punch her in the face if she ever tried anything.

 

“I can't help it if good looks run in your family,” she quips, deflecting. “Can't blame a girl for trying.”

Blandus just shakes his head in exasperation and gestures grandly for Ave to continue leading them along the street. She gives an exaggerated bow before setting off and hears him chuckling behind her while she walks, doing her best to choke back a frustrated sob.

~*~

“Claudia, no.”

She's not entirely surprised by the rebuff. Claudia takes a long sip of wine and tries a new tack. Marcus is reclined an arms' length away from her, a light lunch spread out between them. A young servant waits quietly nearby, ready to refill their cups. She regards him for a moment—Lyceus, an olive skinned Greek, very handy with a needle and thread—before gathering her thoughts and focusing again on her husband.

“If Lexa wins this fight, and if we're victorious in the other contests, we'll make enough to cover almost all of our debts,” Claudia offers. She keeps her tone gentle and low, non-combative. There's no reason to go there just yet. Marcus seems mostly confused that she would even ask for such a thing, but not angry. “She'll just be in more and more danger the longer we keep her in the arena, you know that. How does it harm us to grant her freedom? She'll have earned it.”

“Claudia, darling, you know I have enormous respect for you and all you've done to build this ludus,” Marcus says, pausing momentarily to toss a candied fig into his mouth. “But if Lexa _wins_ , we'll want to keep her around for at least a little while longer. The people will demand it. The Emperor, if we're lucky, may demand it as well. We simply cannot make this decision now.”

She's growing annoyed by his seeming indifference. It may be time to appeal to his emotions, she muses. Marcus is a reasonable enough man, but he is also one ruled more by heart than head. It's something she's learned, sometimes the hard way, over their years together; when her husband has had his heart broken by one young paramour or another (though he never talks about it with her, not explicitly, out of some misguided sense of propriety), when he's been casually left off the invitation lists of the various high profile galas and meetings of the Roman elite. Marcus' greatest weakness may well be how desperate he is to be accepted and loved by those he admires, and to whom he has given his loyalty--regardless of how they feel about him.

The converse is that Marcus can also be exceptionally sympathetic and reliable. He protects those he loves with his whole being, and is generous and genuinely caring.

Right now, however, Claudia can't help but note that all his usual generosity seems to have been left by the wayside in their discussion of Lexa's fate. It likely has much to do with the dire financial situation and reality of the greater plots against them and the ludus. Marcus has been dour and moody—more so than ever before—since their meeting with Decimus. She's been mostly giving him a wide berth because of it, too distracted by her own plans for dealing with the problem. Perhaps it's unkind of her not to offer more support to him, to pay more attention to his needs.

Some part of Claudia bristles at the notion. She shakes her head to ward off the feeling. Marcus gives her an inquiring look, head tilted at an angle and making him look for all the world like a confused puppy. She takes a breath and sets her wine cup onto the stone floor.

“Husband,” she begins, allowing more warmth to color her voice. “You know I want nothing more than to see everything made right for you and this ludus. I wouldn't ask this of you if I didn't think it served our ultimate goal, or that it wasn't the _right_ thing to do.”

Marcus seems to really ponder her words for a moment, the food momentarily forgotten. He reaches across the space between them and gently tucks an errant strand of sun kissed blonde hair behind her ear, and she smiles at the casual intimacy of the gesture.

“You're infatuated with her.”

Whatever affection she'd been feeling seconds before vanishes, replaced by an instant and powerful annoyance. Claudia knows he isn't teasing her. It's not his style, and would be a hypocrisy of the first degree. Still, the statement rankles.

“I respect her,” she counters flatly. It's not a lie. Neither is it the whole truth, but even she's not yet sure what that is so it stands to reason that neither does Marcus.

“You've never asked for anything like this before for any of the other gladiators, even the ones who have fought for us for years,” Marcus adds. “What makes Lexa so special?”

“If you can't see why,” Claudia says, straightening into a seat position, “then you haven't been paying nearly enough attention.”

“We can't afford to lose her right now, Claudia,” he says, firm.

Before she can argue any further, another servant enters the room and goes to kneel in front of Marcus, offering out a rolled up scroll with both hands and a bowed head. Marcus takes the paper and sends the man away with his thanks. Immediately, he unrolls and reads its contents, brow furrowed in concentration and then clear concern. Finally, just as Claudia is about to ask after its contents, he drops it unceremoniously into his own wine cup. The paper quickly absorbs the red liquid and sinks to the bottom of the vessel.

“Decimus sends his regards,” he says at last. Claudia knits her brows in a silent question. “It appears that Senator Rusonius will be joining us in the viewing of tomorrow's games.”

“What? Why?” she practically chokes.

“Decimus doesn't say. Only that we should not object, and would do well to simply hold our tongues, show him every kindness, and to wait and see.”

“I don't understand,” Claudia says, confusion and alarm warring for supremacy in her head. “What's he playing at?” Marcus shakes his head and chuckles. The sound is strangely manic, strangled almost, and does nothing to quell the unease building steadily in the pit of Claudia's stomach.

“I guess we'll find out.”

~*~

There's nothing that compares to the smell of the holding cells beneath the floors of the Colosseo. It's a heady, almost overwhelming combination of earth, every conceivable human and animal excretion, and metal. Claudia still has not grown accustomed to it, though to be fair she has not had much cause to inhabit this realm.

She makes an exception today.

She passes through the long, claustrophobic hallways that crisscross the honeycomb of rooms and chambers hidden beneath the great arena's earthen floor. Beasts of dizzying variety from all corners of the known world are held there and she can hear their growls and roars echo strangely through the halls as she moves briskly toward her destination. All around her men and women—servants, mostly, but a few lower nobles as well—bustle about taking care of the various errands and preparations necessary for the running of such an immense event. Claudia does her best to keep her breathing even, her mind focused, in the otherwise overwhelming and confusing environment. She walks with purpose and poise, two personal guards at her flank, and mostly the workers scurry out of her way as she goes.

Finally, she reaches the gladiatorial chambers where her men are being kept before their contests. Claudia greets both Guidgen and Wazeba, the Axumite brought in at the same time as the Gaul, when she finds them sharpening their respective weapons at one end of the room. The two have proven an effective pair in fights, their strengths and weaknesses complimenting one another. Where Guidgen is muscular and brutishly strong, Wazeba is lithe and quick, cunning. Cassius told her that the pair had worked out a strange but effective system of communication involving hand signals, since they initially did not share a common language. She's confident that they will comport themselves well in the games and tells them as much, wishes them the favor of the gods, and promises rewards upon their victory. The men nod solemnly in return.

Her mind is elsewhere, of course, eyes already searching the dimly lit corners of the space for the tall, powerful form of her Pict. When they finally alight on the woman, off on her own and being afforded considerable space given the otherwise packed quarters, Claudia excuses herself from her other warriors and goes to her.

Lexa stands as soon as she catches sight of Claudia, carefully bowing her head in greeting. When her face comes back up, Claudia can't stop the quiet, stunned gasp that falls from her lips. Inky black paint covers the gladiator's face from ear to ear in a long slash, with a gap at the nose and three jagged, claw-like lines that run down either side and along her high cheekbones. The effect is startling, bringing Lexa's deep green eyes into stark relief and lending her the look of some mythological, predatory creature.

Claudia can't stop the hand that raises to draw a single finger along the underside of the paint on one side of Lexa's face.

“This is what you wore before, in your homeland?” she asks, coming back to herself and dropping her hand again to her side. Lexa remains stoic, lips parted slightly, eyelids heavy. She gives the barest hint of a nod—Claudia is discovering this seems to be her go-to form of communication. “I like it,” she adds, smiling slightly.

She takes a step back to appraise Lexa's full look. They've provided her with new, custom made leather armor that allows for a fuller range of movement while also hugging her form and highlighting that this is, in fact, a woman in the arena. Lexa's hair is pulled back into a series of intricate braids and plaits, functionally to keep it out of her face and harder to get caught up during a fight, but it doesn't hurt that it just makes her look all the more imposing. Combined with the face paint, the Pict cuts a startling and stunning figure, and Claudia can't help the stirring in her chest at the sight.

“Are you ready?” she asks, adopting a formal tone.

“Yes, domina,” Lexa responds, equally serious.

“Not quite,” Claudia interjects. She gestures to one of the guards at her back and he comes forward with a cloth wrapped bundle. Claudia carefully opens it and slowly pulls two, brilliantly crafted and polished swords from within. She smiles as she holds them out for Lexa to take. The warrior looks astonished at the extremely rarefied craftsmanship on display. She takes one into hand almost reverently, examining the weapon with wide eyes.

“I had these made special for you,” Claudia begins, feeling almost shy. “Some of the very finest steel forged in the Empire and made by a dear friend and expert swordsmith. Also extremely sharp. Seemed only fitting you should make your grand debut in Rome with the very best tools at hand.”

Taking a few steps back, Lexa gracefully raises the sword and holds it at the meeting of hilt and blade using just her fingertips, testing its balance. She then expertly flips it once, catching the pommel and giving the blade a few exploratory (and perhaps a little intentionally flashy) twirls. Claudia watches with satisfaction at the way Lexa so clearly relishes in the feel of them, looking very much in her element. When she's apparently done familiarizing herself, Lexa holds the swords at her sides and meets Claudia's eyes again.

“Gratitude, domina. The finest blades I have ever used.”

Claudia feels a light burn at the tips of her ears and silently chastises herself for being quite so pleased with the praise.

“I will see you after, then, as a free woman” she says, trying to sound surer than she feels. “May the gods be with you this day.”

Their eyes lock for a moment, Claudia trying to read Lexa's thoughts through her usual, strangely compelling but completely frustrating affect. A shout breaks through the low din of conversation in the room, abruptly breaking the moment and indicating the start of the games. Claudia gives Lexa one last nod before gathering herself to leave and to face what awaits them in the viewing area.

~*~

Marcus, Octavia, and Claudia had already watched the preliminary games and fights—Guidgen and Wazeba having won their match in spectacular fashion—and are seated beneath the shade of a wide awning when Senator Rusonius finally enters with his small entourage. Claudia had almost hoped he wouldn't show after all, but her stomach drops at his arrival. She has a moment to appraise him before he sees her, taking in the oddly hesitant way the senator moves and interacts with those around him, as though he feels discomfort in his own skin. His smile is pleasant enough, though, and he makes steady eye contact when he speaks to the other senators who accompany him. He looks older than Marcus, certainly, his dark hair shot through with perhaps more salt than pepper at this point, with a long, thin face and a dark shadow of stubble across his cheeks and chin. The somewhat unkempt state of his hair stands in contrast to the crisp, clean white of his robes and the finely stitched gold patterns along its edges.

Rusonius approaches Octavia first, grasping her hand lightly in his own and raising it to his lips.

“My lady, I have not had the pleasure,” he says. Claudia watches Octavia's obvious physical discomfort at having to maintain civility instead of snatching her hand away from the man. Her friend keeps her composure, however, and merely grants a thin smile and a small curtsy in reply.

“Senator, allow me to introduce Octavia Bruttius, wife of Longinus Bruttius, one of Rome's great and honorable _primus pilus_ ,” Marcus chimes in, as is his duty with Longinus absent. Octavia's husband stayed behind as a precaution, to guard the ludus while they attended the games. The senator turns his attention to the two of them then, smiling easily as he offers his arm to Marcus.

“Marcus Caius Gratidius of the Ludus Maximus,” he says as they clasp hands, “and this must be your lovely wife, Claudia.”

She already wants to run a knife through his heart, especially with the almost leering way he takes her in. Instead, Claudia musters all of her training and allows the senator to take her hand and place an all-too lingering kiss at her knuckles. She retracts it as soon as possible, but forces her most pleasant smile onto her face as she does.

“Senator Rusonius, how good of you to join us,” Claudia says, all charm.

“I would not miss the debut of your great woman warrior,” he replies cheerfully. “I have heard so many fantastical tales of her prowess and look forward to seeing it, and her, in the flesh.”

The other senators have begun taking seats along the dais, and Rusonius indicates that they should do the same. Claudia takes her spot, with Marcus to her right and, much to her dismay, the senator at her left. Octavia takes her usual position just behind, and Claudia doesn't have to look to know that the other woman is likely shooting daggers into the back of the senator's head.

“We are proud of all of our fighters,” Marcus says once they've settled. “And we are, as always, most grateful to our glorious Emperor Hadrian for choosing House Gratidius to provide the very best for his games.”

“The very best, indeed,” Rusonius agrees with a nod toward the arena. Two figures have been released onto its sands and are walking purposefully to its center. The crowd cheers for a moment before a hush falls, a reaction to the master of ceremonies standing and raising both hands over his head. Lexa stands out even as a lone figure in the middle of such a vast space. As always, she stands tall and confident, shoulders back, chin raised, the twin swords clasped in either hand at her sides. Claudia notes wryly that someone thought to cover Lexa in oil beforehand—a good tactic for making it difficult for an opponent to grab onto her, but also making her tattooed skin gleam attractively in the sunlight.

Her opponent does not appear particularly imposing or noteworthy. The master of ceremonies introduces the man as The Destroyer and notes his many victories in gladitorial combat, but Claudia can't help but wonder if he will pose much challenge to Lexa. He appears slightly shorter than she, with wiry muscles clear in his arms and legs. The rest of his body is covered by armor plates, face entirely obscured by an imposing, horned helmet. It's the sort of accoutrement that tends to make fighters slow and clumsy.

“And who will you be cheering for, senator?” asks another of his entourage, a much older, squatter gentleman Claudia seems to remember is a somewhat senior member of the Senate. Rusonius chuckles and keeps his eyes trained on the arena when he answers.

“Lexa, of course! It would be a shame to see such rare talent go to waste, after all.”

It's not the answer Claudia expects and it makes her suddenly ill-at-ease, as though some thread of the plot has just been revealed but she can't quite see it. The senator is all smiles, revealing nothing, and when Claudia chances a look at Octavia her friend just shrugs and shakes her head.

All eyes are on the arena now as the master of ceremonies goes through the usual call-and-response with the gladiators, who finish it with a “We who are about to die salute you!” directed to Hadrian himself. The emperor is seated in a more secure, stone-encircled dais far to their right, and Claudia can just make out his hand wave that signals the start of the contest.

The crowd gives a great roar and Claudia sees Lexa take a moment to adjust to the immense setting and sounds. The man steps away from her and the two begin to slowly circle one another. Lexa adopts her usual stance, one sword held high and the other low, taking careful steps to the side and appraising this Destroyer's movements. Again as usual, it's her opponent who makes the first move, lunging quickly with his own gladius to test Lexa's perimeter. He holds a small but thick wooden shield in his other hand, just enough to protect his grip on a small dagger. Lexa parries easily, the man recovers, and it goes on like that for some time—the gladiators taking turns making quick, exploratory strikes at the other but neither leaving a mark.

The crowd continues to cheer but a few disgruntled, impatient boos mingle with the sound now as the fight drags on without much spectacle. The strikes and blows are coming faster and more furiously, but even Claudia can tell that the two are strangely well matched, nearly mirror images of one another, and it's leading to something of a stalemate. Lexa seems to know it and she goes for an unusual and somewhat flashy move, charging at the man but then dropping into a slide at the last moment in an attempt to take out his legs. The trick nearly works, but the man is just able to jump out of the way as a cloud of dust stirs up between them.

In the momentary confusion, the Destroyer brings his sword around to catch Lexa in her side, but she rolls and stops the blow with both of her swords, catching his between them. It's just the opening he needs. The man brings his other hand around and uses the dagger still partially hidden behind the shield to slash up into the meat of Lexa's upper arm. Her shout of pain turns quickly into one of anger as she twists away and jumps back to her feet, taking the dagger—still stuck into her arm—with her as she goes. Claudia twitches forward in her seat, nearly leaping over the dividing wall between them and the arena. Her eyes go wide, mouth open as though to scream but nothing comes out. She feels Octavia's steadying hand clasp her shoulder and tries to calm herself, but the placid look on the face of the senator at her side keeps her on edge.

The crowd roars with approval as Lexa, face pale but stoic, slowly pulls the dagger from her flesh, leaving an angry, bloody gash behind. She lets the arm hangs loosely at her side, its sword dropped into the red-flecked sand below. The Destroyer readies himself once more, sword poised. Lexa doesn't move as he begins to circle once more, simply taking a moment flex the hand of her injured arm and take a few deep, steadying breaths.

Claudia is surprised to see the Pict show her back to her opponent, making no move to turn once he's circled around that far. She feels a spike of panic as she watches the Destroyer lunge forward, sword aimed dead at the back of Lexa's neck. But just as quickly, Lexa ducks and twists her body to the side, letting the sword catch air just inches from her head before reaching her good arm back and clutching his hand. There's a sickening _crack_ that echoes throughout the arena as Lexa wrenches the man's wrist around at a sharp angle, snapping it. He shrieks, an unholy, high-pitched sound, and the sword falls from his grip. Lexa follows the momentum, using the lock she still has on the mangled wrist and forcing him down into the sand. She straddles his back, pinning him in place, and though it clearly pains her to use it at all, reaches with her injured arm and pulls his helmet from his head.

Claudia watches as Lexa pushes the man's face into the sand, a fierce sort of anger mixed with single-minded intent playing across her face. She feels relief wash over her, certain that victory is close at hand. The wound is treatable, Lexa will live, and Claudia will make sure Marcus gives her her freedom. And then, and then....

But as the crowd's chants of “Death! Death!” ring across the arena, Claudia watches as Lexa suddenly tenses up and drops her hand from the back of the gladiator's head. It's as though all of the fight has gone from her in an instant. Claudia can see words exchanged between the two, the man still lying face down in the sand and clutching at his useless wrist, but she can't hear what's said. Lexa throws her sword onto the ground and almost trips as she hurriedly stands and backs away from the man. The mood of the audience immediately turns sour, angry shouts and taunts piercing the air along with bits of food now being chucked down the fighters. Claudia stands, unable to stop herself, and this time it's Marcus who grabs her by the arm and tries to settle her.

“This is what you get for putting a woman into the games,” the older senator drawls.

“Something is _wrong_ ,” Claudia growls back. “This isn't like her.”

Lexa has backed herself into the far wall of the arena and stays there, seemingly frozen in place, her face a mask of shock. The crowd continues to hurl abuse at her, insistent in its displeasure at being denied a good kill, and soon the master of ceremonies sends a handful of guards out to restrain Lexa. Or at least, to put on the show of restraining her, because she isn't resisting. Two other guards go to the man still lying in the middle of the arena and drag him somewhat upright by his arms.

The moment Claudia finally catches clear sight of his face, startling, horrifying realization washes over her in a crashing wave. His face and neck are covered in tattoos, swirling patterns of black ink that look _just like Lexa's_.

Before she can think to say anything to either Marcus or Octavia, the master of ceremonies calls for quiet and begins to speak.

Claudia doesn't hear it, though. All she can do is stare at Lexa, willing the woman to at least seek her out and make eye contact. _I know, I know, and I'm so sorry, I had no idea_.... When she does finally catch Lexa's eye the look that's returned is so despairing and shocked-- _betrayed_ \--that Claudia thinks her heart is actually splitting in two.

“Pity, really,” Senator Rusonius' voice breaks through her racing thoughts. She blinks a few times, trying to focus on her immediate surroundings again. “I can see what you saw in her, but it would seem the Colosseo was simply too much for your girl after all.”

Claudia wants to lash out, tear at his smug face with her fingers until there's nothing left but gristle and bone. She gets in one, good slap before Marcus pulls her away. The senator winces and rubs at the angry red mark left behind on his cheek, takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. When he reopens them, Claudia is unnerved by the chill evident in his carefully controlled expression.

His lack of response is made all the more disturbing when he simply turns to leave the seating area without saying anything more. The others have already begun filing out as well, leaving Marcus and Octavia alone with a still fuming Claudia.

“What the hell did you do that for?” Marcus spits, shaking her by the arms. “He'll come after us twice as hard now!”

“Claud, please, you have to calm down--” Octavia tries to chime in, but Claudia cuts her off, forcing the words out around a sob that threatens to overwhelm her.

“It was one of her _people_ ,” she says. “The Destroyer, his tattoos...he was one of hers.”

Marcus releases his grip on her and knits his brows in question.

“So what?”

“So she wasn't going to kill one of her own people, you simpleton,” Octavia cuts in, shaking her head in disbelief. “Damn, Claudia, someone set her up.”

It's too much of a coincidence, she knows. Octavia is right. Picts aren't exactly common in Rome—it was half of Lexa's popular appeal. And to have one chosen to fight her in her debut, it had to have been intentional. Rusonius _had_ been far too cheerful about the whole thing, she thinks darkly. But another, more pressing concern has her moving toward the exit.

“I have to see her, I have to explain...” she says distractedly, brushing off Octavia's outstretched hand. She's out and into the gallery before either her friend or husband can catch up with her, but they're all stopped almost immediately by the approach of five Praetorian Guards. Claudia stops in her tracks, Marcus and Octavia coming quickly to stand close by her sides, as the imposing soldiers form a protective circle around them. Before anyone can speak, two of the men stand aside and Emperor Hadrian strolls into the space between, looking impatient and unimpressed. All three of them immediately take a knee, heads bowed in deference.

“Marcus Caius, Claudia,” he begins curtly, gesturing for them to rise. “It's safe to say that today represents a stain on the good standing of the Ludus Maximus.”

“Revered Caesar, my most sincere and humble apologies, we had no indication from her previous contests that this would be an issue,” Marcus offers, hands splayed in a gesture of supplication. _We were set up_ , Claudia wants to yell, but wills herself into stillness and quiet. Her resolve is all the more tested when Senator Rusonius steps into the circle with them, coming to stand just behind the Emperor.

“I am told you are under significant stress due to debts incurred by your late father,” Hadrian continues, solemn. Marcus looks up in surprise and Claudia feels bile rise in her throat. “You know I have always held your family and your work in high regard, and you have never before failed me. And so I shall offer you a chance to make this right, to show your loyalty and dedication.”

“You are most merciful, emperor,” Marcus replies with another bow. The Emperor turns his head and nods at the senator.

“Good Spurius has informed me that he is willing to see your debts paid off, and you will put the Ludus Maximus back into good standing, provide my games with your best gladiators,” he explains. Claudia watches the senator's face with growing unease. He's positively beaming now, like a cat that ate the proverbial canary.

“I would not be able to live with myself if I allowed your great house to be crushed under the weight of debts incurred by someone else,” Rusonius says, oozing sincerity.

“You have my gratitude for the gesture, senator, but it is too much--” Marcus begins but once again Hadrian interrupts him, raising one hand, palm out.

“The senator is a generous man, but you will give him one thing in return, as a gesture of good will and thanks,” the emperor explains, and again Claudia feels a chill run along her spine. Everything is moving much too quickly, spinning out of any sense of control. She thinks of Ave working in Alexandria, of what she and Octavia had planned with her, but mostly she can't stop thinking about Lexa and how she needs to see her, to explain that she had no part in placing one of her own people in the fight. She _needs_ to know that Lexa doesn't blame her, and just acknowledging that need is terrifying, too.

“What do we have that could repay such a favor?” Marcus asks hesitantly. He's clearly torn between being hopeful at the thought of being free of the debts but dubious of then owing the senator anything in return. For her part, Claudia is completely certain that it's a terrible idea.

“One favor, to be named at a later time. But for now, I would have your gladiator, this Lexa,” Rusonius says.

“After such a disgraceful and disrespectful performance, I am banning her from all future games. She will never fight for Rome again,” Hadrian adds.

Octavia's hand at the small of her back, again trying to offer silent comfort as Claudia reels at the declaration, is the only thing tethering her to the moment.

“I will take ownership of her,” Rusonius says. It's spoken quietly but definitively, and he takes turns to meet Marcus' and then Claudia's stunned stares. “She's still valuable, I'm sure. I will find...other uses for her.”

This time Claudia is sure the ground has dropped away beneath her. It takes everything in her power not to react in some spectacularly violent and reputation destroying fashion. She stands stock still and breaths hard through her nose, fists clenched to the point that she's sure she'll have deep, half moon cuts in the pads of her hands later.

“That...seems fair,” Marcus stutters.

“Good, then it's settled,” Hadrian says with a curt nod. Without any further discussion or goodbye, the emperor turns on his heel and leaves through the space immediately granted him by his guards. The senator gives them a final smile and a sideways nod of his head before following shortly thereafter, the deep purple robes of the guards closing quickly behind as they leave.

It's like all the air leaves her lungs once they're all gone from the gallery. Claudia feels a hard sob threatening its way up her throat, crowding out breath and making her begin to wheeze. She feels suddenly dizzy with anger and terror all at once, her heart pounding as though to burst free from her ribs. Marcus reaches out to her and says something, concern etched in his features, but all she knows is darkness creeping into the edges of her vision. It washes over her as she collapses to the ground and gives one final, gasping moan before passing out entirely.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing from Ave/Raven's POV is delightful, think that may need to happen some more...
> 
> GLOSSARY OF TERMS/NAMES:  
> ===================  
> Blandus (aka Bellamy) – it means “charming” in the original Latin, I swear! I actually really enjoy Bob Morley and the non-Boris/S3 version of the character, but this name was too damn good to pass up for this fic. ;)


	9. Compromises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claudia makes a decision that could have far reaching consequences. Octavia ain't trynna hear that shit. Everything is about to change forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience and apologies for the slightly longer delay in getting this update posted. THIS FUCKING YEAR. I was pretty depressed after the election, especially since my day job involves a lot of involvement in politics, so it took some doing to start writing for fun again. I'm excited about the things set in motion by this chapter, though, and already cracking away at the next installment--where things get REALLY real.
> 
> Gratitude, as always, for all of your incredible support and feedback. Please do keep it coming!

After the darkness, a dream: she's in a forest at night, but it's glowing with life. Fungus and flying things pulsate blue-silver light like moonlight, and beside her Lexa's face is cast in stark, unearthly shadow around the smooth planes and curves of her high cheek bones and forehead. But as she reaches out to touch flesh turned alabaster in the strange illumination, everything begins to blur and bleed like a painting splashed with water, Lexa's face suddenly run through with jagged strips of oozing black. She tries to cry out but nothing comes, just a flash of blinding white followed by the sensation of falling, fast.

And then she's awake, suddenly, blinking hard around the glaring harsh daylight that streams in through a nearby window. Claudia swallows around a parched mouth and tries to focus on her surroundings. Octavia's face, dark eyes narrowed and clouded over with worry, stares down at her from just off to the side, and behind it Longinus' equally worried but softer expression greets her as well. She smells something spiced and fragrant cooking in a nearby room, hears the sounds of the servants at work there, and wonders how long she's been out.

“Claudia, wake up,” Octavia says, voice firm but pleading. “You have to wake up.” She feels pressure around her wrist and realizes that her friend is clasping her hand.

“How do you feel?” Longinus asks, all gentle concern.

As she pushes herself into a seated position, the days' events come back to her in a rush and Claudia closes her eyes against the memories. She takes a steadying breath and then braces herself to meet her friends' eyes again. She doesn't want to be pitied, if that's what this is. She wants to _act_. 

“I'm fine,” she says steadily. “How long has it been?”

“Not long, nearly supper” Octavia answers. “I've told Longinus what happened. He has news.”

Claudia perks up at this and swings her legs over the side of the bed to face the tall, quiet soldier.

“She should rest,” he tries, but stops when met with withering looks from both women. Longinus shakes his head and sighs. “I talked with one of my men who knows a few of Rusonius' household guards. Drinking buddies.”

“And?” Claudia asks anxiously. She doesn't mean to be short with Longinus, who has been nothing but kind and generous with her over the years. But it's taking everything in her power to fight off the surging panic she feels with each passing moment not spent _doing_ something to find Lexa.

“And they're moving Lexa, to the senator's villa in Dalmatia, in three days time.”

Claudia feels her heart sink. Rusonius is taking Lexa across an entire sea and it can't help but feel very much like the man is trying to punish her in the harshest way possible. There will be no finding or saving the Pict if they get her onto a boat. She has to  _think_ .

“I can see the gears turning, Claud,” says Octavia, deadpan. “What are you planning?”

“We have to stop them from taking her, before they get to the coast.”

“I already don't like the sound of this,” Longinus says, though his tone, Claudia notes wryly, makes it clear he's already conceded the coming fight.

“An ambush,” Octavia chimes in with deadly enthusiasm.

“On their way out of the city, somewhere in the woods where there's good cover,” Claudia adds, feeling the pieces begin to fall into place in her head. Between Longinus and his men, and a few hand-picked gladiators, they're sure to be able to overwhelm any paltry guard Rusonius is likely to assign to Lexa's transport. Unless the senator travels with them.

“Did your man say if Jason would be going along on the trip?” she asks. Longinus shakes his head.

“His duties in the senate will keep him in Rome for some time yet,” he answers.

“Then the guard will be light?”

“Most likely just enough to keep an eye on Lexa and any other goods he might be moving.”

Octavia smiles archly, meeting Claudia's own now steely gaze in solidarity. Longinus frowns.

“Gather your men,” Claudia says, her voice authoritative but deadly calm. “Identify the best place for such an attack, somewhere a ways outside of the city. I will give you a handful of my fighters to assist, and I will ask you, Longinus, to lead them all.”

“I will go, too.”

Marcus' voice comes unexpectedly, causing all three to startle slightly and turn toward the open door to the bedroom where the dominus stands, brows furrowed and jaw set. His face is pale and drawn, dark circles growing under his eyes.

“Marcus, no,” Claudia says flatly. Though she respects her husband for many of his skills, fighting is not one of them. He is passable with a sword, but has never been one for combat, has barely been in a scuffle before. Still, Marcus looks deadly serious now despite his tired appearance, and she can't imagine why he's suddenly taken an interest.

“I will hear no objections, wife,” he says sternly. “Longinus, I trust you to lead, but I will be at your side.”

Dutiful to the end, the soldier simply nods his head once in acknowledgment. Claudia frowns, but decides to save her argument for when they're in private. She feels her stomach suddenly twist with uncertainty. There's no way she can allow Marcus to go. Perhaps there's a way to avoid the entire thing, then, and prevent anyone else from being hurt at her expense. Much as she relishes the idea of the senator suffering an embarrassing defeat, Claudia's strength lies more in backroom diplomacy and dealing, after all. In the rush to find a solution, she hadn't stopped to think about alternate means of securing Lexa's freedom.

“What can I do?” Octavia interjects, momentarily breaking the tension in the room. Claudia pushes herself to her feet and smooths the creases in her robes.

“I have an errand to run tomorrow, at first light, and I could use your company,” she offers. “Then, once we have Lexa again, we'll need a place to keep her other than the ludus. It will be too obvious and unsafe for her here. Are you able to hide her in your home, just for a short while?”

“Of course.”

“Good then, we all have work to do,” Claudia states with an air of finality. She feels something else entirely, but schools her expression and tone into one of calm and control. 

Longinus takes the cue, straightens and gives a curt bow of his head in salute, and then offers his arm to his wife. Octavia takes it and allows herself to be led from the room. Claudia and Marcus stand across the space from one another simply listening to the receding sounds of footfalls until they find themselves alone and in silence, save the trills of some late afternoon bird that drift in through the window and the bustle of dinner preparations in another room.

“What are you thinking, wife?” Marcus finally asks, voice quiet and low. Claudia sucks in a steadying breath and takes the few steps needed to bring her directly before her husband. She takes one of his hands in her own and looks directly into his apprehensive brown eyes.

“You can't go.”

Claudia watches the rapid change of expression on his face with familiarity—first shock, then disbelief, then anger. He pulls his hand from her grasp and straightens to his full height.

“I can and will do what's right for my House and my family,” he answers between gritted teeth. “Are you questioning my resolve? Do you think me a coward?”

“You know I don't,” she says sharply. Then, gathering herself again, Claudia softens her tone. “This is dangerous work, Marcus, and exactly the sort of thing for which we employ Longinus and his men. Not only is there no need for you to put yourself in harms way, but you are more needed alive and in charge of the ludus. What would I do if I lost you?”

It feels a bit like a cheap ploy, Claudia knows, but at the same time Marcus has always been best won over with appeals to his responsibilities to the ludus and to her. And it's not untrue.

“How would I live with myself if I wasn't willing to defend your honor, and the honor of this House?” he counters, fists clenched.

“You need not wield a sword to do either.”

“Perhaps,” Marcus offers, his posture loosening somewhat. “But I have hid too long behind the walls of this ludus, and behind our fighters. Jason saw that weakness and exploited it, and he used you and Lexa to do it.”

“Marcus, no--” she begins to argue, but he holds up a single hand and shakes his head. 

“Beloved, I wouldn't expect you to understand a man's feelings on a matter like this, but I do think you understand honor. And I would hope that you would have more faith in me than this. I will be fine,” Marcus adds, retaking Claudia's hands in his own and gently pressing them to his chest. “I will be well protected by Longinus. We will get Lexa back, and I will personally see to it that the senator is put in his place, once and for all.”

“And how exactly do you intend to do that, husband? What of our debts?” Claudia asks, her voice dipped low and gravelly. She feels dread curling around her heart, because she recognizes this kind of resolve in Marcus, knows there is nothing she can say now that will dissuade him. And she knows, too, that things will not go well for either of them if Marcus continues to pursue this course of action. His pride leads him to single-minded focus and determination. It can and has sometimes been to their benefit, she can admit. But when the situation calls for a more nuanced, complex approach, it's almost guaranteed to lead to ruin.

“I'll figure something out,” he says dismissively. It's Claudia's turn to pull her hands away.

“Do what you must, then, and I'll do the same.”

They regard one another for a fleeting moment before one of the servants enters the room and informs them that their evening meal is ready. They eat in relative silence, giving Claudia plenty of time to contemplate her next move.

She takes action first thing the following morning. As planned, Octavia meets her shortly after Claudia has finished taking her morning meal, and they set off into the city as though on a regular errand. Marcus, preoccupied with making plans for the ambush alongside Longinus, hardly notices as they leave, distractedly grunting his acknowledgment when Claudia bids him farewell.

Dark, heavy clouds bubble and loom on the horizon, the distant rumble of thunder echoing through the tightly packed alleys and streets as they walk. The rain would be much needed, Claudia notes idly, given how dry the summer and autumn have been. But several times similar clouds have threatened, only to dissipate or skirt the city entirely before more than a few scattered drops could fall.

“Where are we going, then?” Octavia asks, pulling Claudia from her thoughts. “This isn't the way to the market.”

“I'll be paying a visit to the home of Senator Rusonius,” she answers frankly, keeping her eyes trained on the path ahead. Two small, scruffy street urchins are chasing a bedraggled rat across the smooth cobbles, squealing with delight as they crash, uncaring, through the legs of annoyed pedestrians. Out of the corner of her eye, though, she sees Octavia arch a single, sleek black eyebrow at her.

“Given what we've planned, doesn't that seem like a bad idea?” her friend asks dryly. Claudia deftly steps around the suddenly stopped figure of one of the children as he triumphantly raises the captured varmint into the air by its long, thick tail. The kids will eat today.

“It occurs to me that our initial plan may have been too hasty,” she begins as they once again fall into stride next to one another. “I can't have Marcus charging off into battle to get himself—or anyone else--killed over this. I need to find another way.”

“And what way would that be?”

“I'm going to talk to him, offer him something valuable in return for Lexa,” Claudia answers. Octavia grabs her by the arm and forces them both to come to a sudden stop. 

“What are you talking about, Claud? What can you offer him that he isn't already just taking?”

Claudia sighs, licks her lips. They've come to an open square filled with people pulling buckets of water from an elaborate fountain at its center. Claudia watches a young woman, probably around her age, as she deftly hoists a full wooden bucket onto her head while wrangling four gleefully chattering children who scurry in all directions around her legs like a living whirlwind. She and Marcus had tried for children for a short while after being married, feeling the pressure to provide an heir at the very least. Claudia never felt much urge to bear and raise a child, though she certainly wasn't opposed to it, either. It had always been a sort of given, something she'd assumed would just happen to her at some point, inevitable like aging itself. She'd been somewhat of an anomaly, as an only child, but then her father died when she was very young, and her mother had spent more time working to keep them alive and afloat once he was gone and hadn't seemed very interested in finding a new partner. Claudia never had siblings, then, or even young cousins to play with or look after. It had always just been her and her mother.

Still, they'd given it the token effort, but nothing ever took. Marcus' people all assumed it was her fault as a woman, as was usually the assumption when a couple failed to conceive. Claudia wasn't convinced. That hardly mattered now, of course. 

“I just need you to be there to make sure I have a witness, so he can't try anything stupid,” she says finally, watching as the mother and children make their way into a nearby alleyway and, presumably, home.

“You mean like you're about to do?”

Claudia turns to meet Octavia's pointed stare. 

“I'm doing what I have to do to protect my people, O,” she counters plainly. “I would expect you'd understand that.”

Pursing her lips, Octavia takes in the rebuff with silent acceptance. Claudia has always appreciated her friend's fierce sense of loyalty, that she speaks her mind, and that she can recognize and accept when a conversation is over.

They cover the remaining ground to the senator's house in comfortable silence, both lost in their own thoughts and plans. Both had dressed relatively plainly for the short journey, in an attempt to blend more with the crowds and not stand out as unaccompanied noblewomen. It doesn't come as a surprise, then, when they're met with skepticism by the guard who stands watch at the entrance to Rusonius' relatively modest city dwelling.

He returns quickly to allow them entrance once sent off with Claudia's name and purpose, however, and soon enough they find themselves standing and waiting in a richly appointed atrium at the center of the building. Lush, broad leafed plants drape over a shallow pool at its middle, and the floor is a brightly colored mosaic depicting various scenes from old myths and legends. The largest motif depicts the heroic, muscled figure of Hercules and Claudia can't stop herself from rolling her eyes. Octavia catches her in the act and offers a knowing smirk in return.

After a few moments, the senator himself strolls into the atrium from some darkened doorway. He looks freshly shaven and bathed, his hair nearly trimmed and streaked through with tasteful silver at the temples. Once again he wears finely woven and expertly dyed robes of white with fine gold trim along the edges, and there are a series of gold rings on his fingers.

He enters like a caesar appearing before an adoring crowd, hands extended at either side as though to embrace his guests.

“My dear Claudia,” he begins, smiling serenely as he steps to within a breath of Claudia's face. She forces herself not to flinch as he clasps her hand and places a light kiss at her knuckles. “And her loyal companion, Octavia Bruttius. To what do I owe this distinct pleasure?”

Octavia is spared from his physical greeting, at least, and Claudia sends a silent prayer to whatever gods may be listening, because if the senator had tried to kiss Octavia she's sure there would have been bloodshed. Claudia, for her part, effects an external attitude of warm affection, despite the fact that her insides are positively crawling. She has a plan to execute, after all, and is determined to see it succeed. If she has to sacrifice some of her own dignity in the service of avoiding violent ends for those she loves, so be it.

“Good Senator Rusonius,” she begins, “I've come to offer my apology for how I behaved at the games yesterday. I'm afraid the heat and stress of the day proved too much, and I'm ashamed of the way in which I comported myself and represented our great ludus, especially on such an auspicious occasion. I hope you will forgive me.”

“Of course, of course,” he answers seriously. He gestures for them to follow to an alcove where several pillows have been arranged atop a plush carpet. Claudia is sure to arrange herself close to the senator, such that she again catches Octavia's questioning look out of the corner of her eye. 

“I must admit that there is a second purpose to my visit, though,” Claudia continues once settled. A young female servant enters and offers cups of wine to each of them. Claudia takes hers with a grateful nod and downs nearly half of it in one drink while the senator is distracted with his own.

“I didn't imagine you would come all this way for a purely social call,” he says blithely. Settling more into her role, Claudia offers him a coy smile in return and watches with satisfaction as he grows smug at it.

“You've caught me, of course.” Octavia snorts quietly, but Claudia ignores it. “I am grateful to you for your offer to pay off the debts of the ludus. And I admit I feel responsible for much of the trouble faced by our house as of late. My own ambitions and pride got the best of me, and I stepped too far out of my place. And now others are paying for my faults, my dear husband most especially.”

The senator sips at his wine and regards her carefully, eyes sweeping the length of her body from head to toe. 

“It is commendable of you to confess this,” he says after a moment. “Rome's women are indeed an intelligent and noble tribe, but I fear sometimes that you are fed too much of the salt that makes Rome's men even greater. The resulting indigestion does not suit the fairer sex.”

It takes everything in Claudia's power not to roll her eyes so powerfully that they burst from her skull, and she reaches out a firm hand to clutch at Octavia's ankle, pinning the woman in place before she can lunge at the man for his comments.

“All that said, I had hoped to find a way to make amends,” Claudia continues breezily. “You seem to have a keen interest in the gladiators and their training, and I want to help foster that. You took one of our warriors, the Pictish woman, and while she has certainly proved to be a stand-out attraction for us, I wonder if you wouldn't be better served by owning and training several of our more proficient male fighters.”

Rusonius looks intrigued by the offer. He sits up more straight from his formerly reclined position on the pillows and meets Claudia's blue eyes with a steady gaze.

“What are you offering?”

“Three of our best fighters—your choice,” Claudia says. “You return Lexa to us. For safe keeping. She won't fight in the games anymore, not after her impudent display.”

“Why should I return the woman to you? She was part of my terms, when I agreed to pay off your debts.”

“I assume that was because you didn't think we would part with any of our male fighters,” she counters. “Believe me, I can understand the attraction to the Pict. She's an oddity, but oddities rarely have staying power. The people will tire of her. And, as we've seen, she's also a liability.”

The senator seems to take this in and consider it seriously, spending a moment sipping at his drink, brows furrowed, while continuing to regard the blonde woman in front of him. The same young servant returns to refill their cups, but this time Claudia holds off drinking any more. She had only broken her fast with a very light meal that morning and the gulp of wine is already beginning to make her head feel light and a bit cloudy. It was good to take the edge off and dull the feeling of wanting to crawl out of her own skin at this entire interaction, but she doesn't want to go so far that she'll lose her ability to see and think clearly. 

“Your offer is a generous one,” he says evenly. “Still, I want to play an active role in their training and triumphs for the long term. I don't intend to be an absent partner. I will want a stake in the ludus itself, especially if I am to pay off its debts.”

Her blood boils at the thought, but it's not an unreasonable trade. They would still have the controlling interest in the ludus, and it would at least buy them time to raise the funds to buy it back fully in the long run. All the while, it would end the attempts on Marcus' life by those still owed by his father.

“I think that's fair,” Claudia agrees. Rusonius smiles, lazy and slow like a creature about to pounce on a bit of captive prey. He puts the cup of wine down and reaches out to clasp Claudia's wrist, drawing circles into the soft skin there. She feels a shudder of revulsion wrack her body and has to press her eyelids shut to keep from shaking him off. She hopes he reads it as lust.

“There is one another thing I would offer you,” he says. Claudia swallows and forces herself to meet his stare. “You are too fine a woman to content yourself with the fumblings of a man like Marcus Caius. I could give you far more stability. A place of honor among Rome's elite.”

Claudia practically chokes. It's not a tack she was expecting, though in retrospect she should have seen it coming. Given just how ambitious and egotistical the man apparently is,  _of course_ he would seek not only to steal away Marcus' business, but his wife, too.

Essentially, now, it's a trap. She feels like an idiot for allowing herself to end up in this position. If she denies him, the whole plan is ruined. He's likely to rescind the offer to pay off the debts, and to redouble his efforts to ruin Marcus and the ludus. He'll certainly keep Lexa. She has no bargaining power in this. The only thing she can do, Claudia decides quickly, is play along and seek another way out, play a longer game still.

Mustering every ounce of resolve and acting ability she has, Claudia forces a pliant smile onto her face and interlaces her fingers with his. Octavia's eyebrows shoot up so high on her forehead that they nearly disappear into her hairline.

“You are entirely too kind, senator,” she begins. “I couldn't leave Marcus, though, not just like that. He's done so much for me, when I came from nothing. How would it look if I were to simply cast him off?”

“Ah, my lady,” Rusonius sighs, “ _you_ are entirely too kind. Marcus hardly deserves someone as intelligent and ambitious as you. But I understand your concern. We can take our time. If you agree, I will see to it that the divorce is handled discreetly, and that a new, more appropriate match is arranged for Marcus. He needn't be left entirely in the cold, I am not so unfeeling as all that.”

“Of course not,” Claudia drawls. “And what of Lex—of the Pict?”

“If she isn't to fight in the games, I don't see why you have such interest in her,” he answers, almost dismissively. “But as a token of my affection and good will, I'll give you leave to determine her fate...once you and I are wed, of course.”

_Fuck_ . Claudia wants to spit. She's bought them time, and hopefully avoided bloodshed by stopping the need for the ambush, but she can't help but feel like she's lost even more in the trade. But this is her lot, it seems—to suck it up and do what's right to save as many people as she can, even if it means compromising herself to do it.

“I thank you for everything, senator.”

“Please, call me Jason,” he adds, moving again to kiss the back of her hand. While his head is bowed, Claudia can't help her stare turning icy and murderous. By the time he rises again to meet her gaze, however, she's all sweetness and light.

“We should take our leave, before Marcus begins to wonder where we've gotten off to,” she notes. The senator nods and gets to his feet, offering a hand up to Claudia. She takes it but just as quickly drops his hand once standing. Behind her, Octavia also rises and moves to stand directly behind her, a steadying hand placed on the small of her back.

“I'll wish you a good day, then, my lady,” he says and dips his eyes just slightly. “I will send word.”

Claudia and Octavia allow themselves to be shown to the door and back out into the midday sun of the bustling streets. The clouds that had earlier threatened at the horizon are now more fully overhead, their grumblings grown louder as the first fat drops of rain begin to fall. Octavia curses their luck and struggles in vain to cover her head with a long shawl as the storm begins to unload upon them. Claudia merely turns her face to the sky, letting the water wash over her skin.

~*~

“You're sure?”  
  
“Yes, very sure.”

The young servant girl is nervous and fidgety as they stand under the cover of a low arch. The skies have been unrelenting since the downpour began the day before and now great rivers of runoff cascade through the rutted and muddy streets. Fewer people are out as a result, and those that do brave the rain are too hurried to notice their shadowy meeting, for which Octavia is grateful. She presses a a couple of thick coins into the girl's waiting palm and meets her eyes.

“The senator still intends to send the Pict away, tomorrow, to his villa in Dalmatia. He's shipping all sorts of household goods there, too,” she adds.

“I thank you for this,” Octavia says, serious. The girl nods once and then quickly pockets the money deep in the folds of her servant's clothes. A second later and she's gone, hurrying off into the rainy street and back toward the senator's home. Octavia watches her go, a sense of finality settling in her gut. A firm but gentle hand at her shoulder causes her to startle slightly, but just as quickly she eases back into Longinus' embrace.

“Are _you_ sure about this?” he asks, speaking softly into the shell of her ear. Octavia feels a shiver run through her body at the brush of his lips there. She's also, if she's entirely honest with herself, already feeling keyed up about the plan itself. The mix is a heady one, and Octavia fully intends to ride her husband into oblivion as soon as they're alone at their home later that evening. Especially given what she's asking of him, it seems the least she can do for the man. Not that it's any great chore.

“I'm sure,” she answers, turning to face Longinus. He looks at her with the same adoration and consternation that has marked his feelings for her since the beginning. “Claudia isn't to know. We take care of this so she doesn't have to sacrifice herself to that pig. No one knows she or Marcus had anything to do with it—just bad luck with bandits on the road. We get Lexa back and get rid of the senator all in one fell swoop.”

Longinus smiles down at her, cupping one of his large hands along the curve of her jaw and tipping her face up to lay a lingering kiss on her lips. Rarely content with such sweetness and light, Octavia pushes into the embrace more firmly, grasping confidently at the back of his neck with one hand and the hard curve of his rump with the other. He breaks away, chuckling, and Octavia smacks him across his leather armor clad chest.

“Take me home, you lummox,” she growls. “We have things to do.” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hey follow me on Tumblr, if that's your thing: gaydarwilliams.tumblr.com


	10. Rubicon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raven gets shit done (and gets some), Claudia and Marcus have it out, people make decisions, and a boundary is crossed from which there is no return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (weirdly enough, I was listening to Tove Lo's new album, "Lady Wood," for much of the writing of this (very long) chapter. It's real good, if you're interested)

Testicles are an engineering failure. Ave lets the thought linger for a moment before returning her immediate attention back to the whimpering mess of a man before her. She clutches more firmly and twists slightly, eliciting a pained shout.

“Sweet fuck, woman!” the man hisses. A lazy, satisfied smirk slides across Ave's face in response. Truly, why design something so very vulnerable and have it just hanging there outside of the body, entirely too easy to injure? Although, she notes, given all of the physical advantages that men—well, _some_ men—are given, perhaps it's a blessing that they also come with such an accessible Achilles heel.

“I'll let you go,” Ave says, holding tight, “if you give me the name I seek.”

“Fuck, fuck, OK!” he practically howls. The man is about the same size as her, all wiry thin muscles and darkly tanned skin from hours spent laboring under the Alexandrian sun. One of Decriannus' lesser overseers, charged with managing a crew of masons now working on a large new temple. Essentially, a minor enough figure to not harbor any serious loyalties to anyone but himself, but just trusted enough to have the right knowledge for her purposes.

Ave arches a single eyebrow at him and waits.

“The guy you want goes by the name Ptolemy,” he says through gritted teeth. Ave relinquishes her grip and the man staggers away from her, heaving a sigh of relief and rubbing at the effected body part. “Usually at the night market, near the senet players. Nubian.”

“Thank you,” Ave offers with a nod. “Now was that so hard?”

He grimaces and spits in the sand at her feet before staggering off into the deepening shadows of the narrow alleys. Ave chuckles lightly and wipes her hand on the light fabric of her robes.

She finds Ptolemy just where the man indicated he'd be. He sits at a low table in a relatively quiet corner of the marketplace, seriously contemplating the pieces on a game board. Another, far more elderly gentleman sits across from him, half dozing. Ave steps to his back and regards the game over one broad shoulder.

“Move your pawn three up and left and you'll force him into a trap in a couple of turns.”

Ptolemy jerks his head around at the sound of Ave's voice near his ear. His head and face are both clean shaven, skin as dark as any she's yet seen. It especially sets off the whites of his eyes and teeth, which she gets full view of as a wide grin splits his features.

“Good fortune to me on this night! Visited by a goddess of such cunning _and_ beauty,” he says, voice deep, his common tongue heavily accented. Ave offers him a charming smile in return and gestures to the senet board.

“You flatter. But please, don't let me interrupt.”

“It is no burden to be interrupted by you,” he counters, turning now fully away from the board to face her. She notes that his opponent has begun snoring lightly. “What service may I be to you this evening?”

“You are Ptolemy, then?”

“None other,” he says, standing and bowing his head slightly. He practically looms over her, at least a full head taller, though his carriage is nonthreatening. He wears gold bracelets on either arm, each sculpted to coil around thick muscles in the guise of serpents. He's bare chested, dressed only in a knee-length white cotton kilt, a brightly colored woven belt at his waist. “And who do I have the pleasure of meeting?”

“You may call me Raven,” she begins, returning the bow. Ave pulls a small but heavily weighted sack of coins from under her robes and dangles it meaningfully from a single finger. “And I had hoped to arrange some business with you. I'm told you're the man to seek when a person is looking to make things go _boom_.”

Ptolemy's face practically lights up at that, and a sonorous burst of laughter follows. Ave's grin only deepens. He steps away from the table and gestures toward the door of a nearby dwelling.

“My dear Raven,” he says, leading her past two burly guards and into the building. “I think you and I are going to get along just fine.”

~*~

Morning dawns clear and blue, a tranquil breeze blowing in from the bay and lifting the usual stink of the city, at least for a little while. Ave stands on the balcony overlooking a small courtyard where household servants are already busy preparing for the days work. From here she can see over the squat rooftops of the homes of Alexandria's laborer class and nearly straight out to sea. There are several monumental structures now obscuring the complete view, thanks in large part to the efforts of Decriannus.

One of them is the temple, its construction overseen by Kain and nearly complete, and it is currently on fire. Great pillars of thick black smoke billow from its roof. Around the base and engulfing the wooden scaffolding eerie greenish flames lick hungrily at the structure, consuming it with surprising but satisfying speed. Ave can hear the shouts of workmen hurrying to escape the conflagration, of the overseers screaming for them to come back and attempt to quench the fire. She smiles. No bucket brigade has a prayer of saving the temple from its fate.

A large, warm hand clasps her by the shoulder and she turns, still smiling, to face its owner. Ptolemy grins back, though he's not looking at the fire in the distance.

"I told you, my men can be trusted to finish a job,” he says, moving his hand to clutch at the collar of the light shift covering Ave's body. His own is fully unclothed and she takes a moment to appreciate that fact before meeting his eyes once more. “Decriannus is even now getting word that the fire is the result of Kain's negligence. He will never work in this city again.”

“And you have my sincere gratitude,” she answers. “You'll have the rest of the money promised when you deliver the formula, as well.”

“Of course,” Ptolemy agrees, momentarily solemn. The smile returns almost immediately, though, as his hands drift lower. “Just couldn't have you running off back to Rome quite so quickly as all that.”

There are so many pressing matters that need tending to, Ave knows. Certainly Kain will figure out eventually that the fire was no accident, but arson, and may even connect the woman who came looking for him on behalf his son to the act. She's partially counting on it, in fact. They need to be ready, and then they need to leave for Rome as quickly as possible.

But right now she's high on the rush of a successful plan, and how much she enjoys the destruction of opulent buildings. And she misses Octavia, if she's being honest with herself. Ptolemy is here in front of her, willing, attractive. And it has been _awhile_.

Ave fucks him on the balcony as they watch the flames and smoke curl higher into the blue sky, eventually obscuring what's left of the temple structure. Tomorrow, if Kain hasn't come to them first, they'll seek him out and again offer him return passage to Rome, to put things right with his son and the ludus. Right now, she's going to enjoy herself as much as possible while she can.

~*~

Kain arrives earlier than expected. She has to give him credit; the man is no idiot.

It's early the next morning when Ave awakes to feel a cold, sharp blade pressed to her throat before she's barely had a chance to open her eyes. Her husband never made it back the night before, presumably still passed out in the bed of a prostitute. Ptolemy left the afternoon before, after they'd taken their fill of one another. She's alone in the room, though immediately pissed that Blandus and the household guards seem to have failed in their duties so spectacularly.

The more pressing concern, of course, is the knife at her pulse point. Ave holds perfectly still and takes a breath.

“You conniving _bitch_ ,” hisses a voice in her ear. She recognizes it for Kain and sighs internally. “You've ruined everything.”

“You need to go home to your _son_ , Kain,” Ave growls back through gritted teeth. The door to the room is just a few feet away, closed. There's supposed to be a guard on the other side. Presumably, then, Kain found a way in through the window, over the balcony. Which makes him remarkably limber for an older man. Ave casts her glance about the dimly lit room, looking for something, she's not sure what, to alert the guard to her predicament.

“I need meddling harpies to stay out of my life,” he says in a harsh whisper, clipping each word off at the end.

“Are you going to kill me, then?” she asks, hedging her bets. Is he so desperate that he'd murder the wife of a prominent merchant, hot on the heels of the catastrophic failure of his largest project? Ave's willing to gamble that he's not, and so must be playing a different angle. One where she gets to live.

For a split second she's worried she's made a gross miscalculation, as Kain tightens his grip around her neck and the blade pushes further into her flesh, drawing a single drop of blood. Ave winces but quickly schools herself back into stoicism. She won't give him the satisfaction of showing fear or pain.

“No,” he finally says, and shoves her back into the bed as he gets back to his feet and lowers the blade. “There's nothing left for me here, you've made sure of that,” he goes on. “So I'll let you live, but only if you go back to Rome and tell my...tell Marcus that his father is truly dead.”

Ave sits up slowly and faces him. The sun has finally risen enough to throw its first golden rays into the room, illuminating the man before her. Kain's face is ashen and gaunt, dark circles hanging heavy under his eyes. She almost feels bad for him.

Almost.

Before even she really knows what she's doing, Ave lashes out with both legs, sending them hard into Kain's midsection and sending him sprawling back onto the floor. He crumples against the wall with a startled shout and Ave jumps to her feet. The knife he'd been holding has slipped from his fingers and skittered to a stop close by, and Ave bends to retrieve it just as the door to the room slams open. Blandus comes hurrying in, a short club clutched in one fist, and she watches as he takes in the scene before him.

Unfortunately, in the time she allows herself to be distracted by Blandus' dramatic entrance, Kain gathers himself and lunges for her, catching her at the waist and the hand that wields the knife. He spins them so that they crash to the floor with his weight fully on top of her. It takes a split second, but Ave feels like she sees it unfold over long minutes.

The wind is knocked from her as they collide with the hard floor, Kain's body pinning her there. The back of her head snaps back into the tile, dazing her. Kain wrenches her wrist and pulls her whole arm around at a painful angle, pointing the knife at her thigh. She sees Blandus rush over to them and haul back the club, ready to strike. Pain comes then, searing and hot, to a point on her leg just above the knee. It spreads suddenly up her thigh, lighting the whole thing on fire. A scream rips from her throat just as Kain's body goes limp and falls off to the side.

She doesn't notice when Blandus lands the blow alongside Kain's head, or when he rolls the unconscious body off to the side and calls out to her to ask if she's all right. There's too much pain. Ave can't open her eyes, can't stop screaming and clutching at her leg. Somewhere, dimly, in the back of her mind she's aware of the warm rush of blood flowing around her hands. Some vital part has been severed and she'll bleed out entirely if they don't find her help, and quickly. But blackness is pushing in around the edges of her awareness, accompanied by feeling so light headed Ave can hardly concentrate even on screaming anymore.

She feels a solid pressure on her leg and finally opens her eyes. Blandus kneels over her, pushing hard over the wound, his face drained of color and eyes wide with concern.

“Medicus,” she whispers. “Now.” Blandus nods furiously and yells out to the other guards who've finally become aware of the altercation and hover nearby. She can't make out what he says but hopes it's an order to find help. Right now, she's too busy slipping into shock and probably unconsciousness to do much else.

~*~

The ludus is abuzz with activity. Servants who had been rushing to prepare Marcus, Longinus, and his men for their journey now work to set the house back to rights. The trip won't be needed, Claudia thinks with relief, now that Rusonius has agreed to keep Lexa in Rome. In the training yard, Cassius is running the gladiators through their usual paces. Claudia stands beneath the shade of the gallery and watches Guidgen and Wazeba face off with one another in a sparring match, the Gaul wielding his usual sword and shield, the Axumite with his long spear. She may need them, if her more diplomatic methods of winning Lexa back go south.

So lost in thought over plans and possibilities is she that Claudia doesn't notice when Marcus steps to her side. She startles slightly when a hand presses into the small of her back.

“Why did you do it?”

Marcus' voice is low and steady, almost dispassionate, but she knows it means he's angry about something. She turns and meets his deep brown eyes, narrowed now in frustration and hurt.

“I don't know what you mean, husband,” she counters quietly, though she's already fairly certain of his meaning. Word travels fast, even when something is done in what a person hopes is stealth. Marcus drops his hand and takes a breath through his nose.

“You went to see the senator. Alone. _Why_?” he asks, his tone pained. Claudia sighs and turns to fully face him.

“I don't want you to go and get yourself killed, Marcus,” she answers frankly. “I wanted to see if there was anything else that could be done instead. I had to try.”

“ _You_ could have been killed!” he shouts suddenly. Claudia flinches but remains still, willing herself to be patient through his outburst. “Or worse. We don't know what all he's capable of, Claud,” Marcus goes on, more measured. “Don't you trust me to fix this?”

It feels like a knife to her heart. Because she _doesn't_ trust him to set things right. It's not a thought she'd articulated to herself before. Now, in this moment, she feels the truth of it like a weight on her chest.

“I'm trying to do what's best for all of us, for this ludus,” she says, pivoting away from answering his question. Marcus opens his mouth to object but she pushes on. “He's already taken so much from us, Marcus, I won't let him take anything more.”

His eyes narrow suddenly. “This is about Lexa,” he says, practically spitting. The sudden change of topic brings Claudia's thought process to a halt and she finds herself at a loss for words. “You've been obsessed since we first brought her here. It's clouded your good judgment, put you and this whole ludus in danger. And why? What makes her so special?”

“It's not...she's not...” Claudia tries and fails to articulate an objection. _This is ridiculous_ , she thinks. _There is no time for this._ Marcus stares at her with such abject longing and hurt, though, that she can't bring herself to fight him on it. Perhaps he's not entirely wrong. Maybe she has allowed her feelings for the Pict to cloud her better judgment, not to mention her desire to prove something to all of Rome with the success of the warrior woman. Marcus has always trusted her to make decisions based on what was best for the survival and status of their family and the ludus. He's never objected to her taking lovers, either, but then Lexa has not been like any of the others. If Claudia is being perfectly honest with herself, things with Lexa have always been different.

“Lexa is special,” she says, finally. Best now to be honest. Tomorrow Marcus will leave with Longinus and his men on a mission that could very well get him killed, bring ruin to their house, force her into hiding or worse. Or they'll succeed and still have to be looking over their shoulder at every turn. Everything is about to change, one way or another, and Claudia doesn't want them to part on lies.

“You have feelings for her.” Marcus says it without bitterness. He looks almost relieved, in fact, that she's finally just said it out loud. Claudia's nod is almost imperceptible, but Marcus has long learned how to read her well. “Then trust me to do this, for the ludus, and for you.”

She knows he means it. Marcus has never been the type to put on airs, is almost too pure in his intentions to be Roman. Claudia only wishes his loyalty was matched by his cunning. But now that he's set on this particular course of action, there's almost nothing she can do to dissuade him. It feels like they're rushing headlong into a solid stone wall and the sudden panic she feels at its approach makes her desperate.

“Fuck the ludus,” she says suddenly. Marcus' eyebrows shoot up and his jaw drops. “We can get Lexa back another way and then leave Rome, go start over somewhere else, free from the debts your father left you with and away from all this petty, ridiculous political fighting with Rusonius. He's already agreed not to send her away. Your ambush is unnecessary.”

“What are you talking about, Claudia?” he counters, visibly uncomfortable with the line of reasoning. “This place is our home. It's my _birthright_. My father may have made some poor financial decisions but he would have wanted me to stay and fight, to keep the name of Gratidius strong and respected.”

“Your father faked his death and left you to twist in the wind, Marcus!” Claudia says almost without thinking and almost immediately regrets it. Marcus' face goes ashen, eyes wide with shock. A moment of heavy silence passes between them. The men in the yard go on with their mock battles, oblivious.

“What did you just say?” he asks in a whisper. Claudia runs a hand over her face and lets out a long sigh. She hadn't intended to tell him, at least not like this. It's out in the open now, though, no going back. And if the hard truth can keep Marcus from rushing headlong into a fight he's like to lose, maybe it's for the best.

“Your father, Marcus Cato,” she begins softly. “He's alive, living in Alexandria under a new name. Avecita is there now trying to convince him to return and help put things right for you.”

“How...but he died at sea...this can't....”

“It's true, Marcus,” Claudia interrupts him as gently as possible. She goes to place a careful hand on his arm but he jerks away, taking a step back from her entirely. The look on his face is one of utter disbelief. “The man is a coward,” she goes on, more firm now. “He left all of his problems on your shoulders and ran away. You owe him, and his 'good' name, _nothing_.”

'You're lying,” he says finally, practically choking on the words.

“Why would I lie?” Claudia counters, trying to remain calm but quickly losing the battle. She feels sweat bead at the nape of her neck, and a rush of blood to her head. It's the precursor to her getting angry and just shouting in Marcus' face, but she knows it will have the exact opposite effect that she intends if she allows herself to break. Instead, she takes a steadying breath, hands held out with palms up. “You should know the truth, Marcus. I should have told you sooner. I just can't let you rush off to your death in the name of a _lie_.”

“And what of Lexa? Our debts?” he asks, almost automatically. Claudia notes the shift in tone skeptically. “When you went to see Rusonius, what exactly did you offer?”

She turns to face the training yard once more, eyes fixed on Guidgen and Wazeba as they fend off the attacks of two other gladiators. They work almost seamlessly together, she notes with satisfaction, standing back-to-back as they parry blows and give offensive strikes in turn.

“I offered him a trade,” Claudia says after a moment. When Marcus says nothing, waiting, she goes on. “Some of our best men and a small stake in the ludus, in exchange for Lexa and his help with our creditors.”

“And what did he say?” Marcus asks, voice pitched low. Claudia clenches her jaw and takes a long pull of air through her nose before responding. When she does, she turns her head to meet her husband's stare full-on.

“He said yes, but only if I agreed to marry him as well.”

Marcus' eyebrows practically shoot off the top of his head and his mouth drops open in shock.

“That _snake_ ,” he says, and it comes out almost like a growl. Claudia has rarely seen Marcus look quite so furious. A single, fat vein pulses with blood across his forehead. “And what did you say?”

“I let him believe that I would go along with it.” She says it simply, honestly. It seemed dangerous to turn the down the senator outright in that moment, and more beneficial to lead him on to believe she was considering the offer. She hopes Marcus can see that.

Out in the yard, one of the gladiators lets out a howl of pain as Wazeba's blunted weapon catches him across the back of the head. The man collapses into the dirt with a thud. It momentarily draws Claudia's attention back, before focusing it again on her husband. Marcus has gone alarmingly still.

“Marcus,” she begins, reaching out to grasp his hand. Instead, he turns and strides back into the house without a word. Claudia is used to Marcus fighting it out with her. Simply walking away from an argument is not like him and, frankly, it's more than a little unnerving. Another pained shout once again puts her attention on the men in the yard, though, and she notes that Guidgen has subdued the other opponent with a head lock. Cassius calls them off, ending the fight, and the two triumphant men clap each other across the shoulders before returning to the wall where the rest of the men are waiting their turn. It likely would have been Guidgen and Wazeba that she would have had to trade to Rusonius in return for Lexa. She would have done it, she realizes with a mixture of self-disappointment and calm. She's glad she won't have to now.

~*~

It's easy enough to convince Claudia that Longinus and his soldiers are heading out on a routine errand. Octavia even invites herself over to keep her friend company while the men go about their business, both to keep an eye on her and to be a distraction. It's not that she particularly relishes lying to Claudia, of course. Octavia wants to keep her safe, though, and knows her stubborn friend would throw herself into harms way if she knew what the actual plan for the day is—especially given Claudia's seemingly enormous blind spot when it comes to all things Lexa. If she knew Rusonius was still moving the Pict out of the city, had reneged on his word to her, it would be nearly impossible to keep her from doing something incredibly stupid in retaliation. Octavia knows because, given a reversal of their roles, it's probably what she would do.

So they sit and talk of what Ave might be up to in Alexandria as the gladiators spar in the yard and Longinus moves his men into position somewhere along the road a few miles outside city limits. There's a spot where the cobbled pathway winds between two tree-lined hills and makes for an ideal ambush point. She trusts her husband and his men to do their work quickly and efficiently, leaving no trace of who's responsible for the attack. It should be 20 highly trained Roman soldiers versus a handful of household guards, after all. It should be fine.

Still, she worries. The remaining, more unpredictable factor is Marcus. He'd cornered her husband late the day before, fresh from a fight with Claudia. Octavia eavesdropped as the two men quarreled in angry, hushed tones. Marcus demanded to go along on the ambush, and Longinus tried to reason with him that his safety was more important. He should leave the mission up to trained soldiers. He paid them for that, after all.

In the end, Marcus stubbornly insisted on going, using his position as dominus to overrule Longinus. Octavia tries to keep herself focused now on doing nothing to arouse Claudia's suspicions, but a knot of unease in the pit of her stomach persists throughout the morning. And Octavia knows she's bad at hiding her true emotions, try though she might. The frustration she feels with herself over that fact only makes it worse. And so it doesn't take long for her good friend to notice that something is off.

“Out with it, O,” Claudia says evenly. It's nearly midday and they're sat on long cushions in the ludus' central courtyard, sipping idly from cups of wine. Octavia looks up from the bit of copper she'd been twisting into shape for a new bracelet. She'd wanted to learn to forge blades as a child, but had been quickly disabused of the notion by their foster parents. Jewelry making was the substitute; “more fitted for a girl.”

“I don't know what you mean,” she replies. Claudia sets down the piece of parchment and charcoal stick she's using and levels a hard stare at her friend. Octavia can just make out the perfectly rendered figure of a naked woman on the page as it settles on the tiled floor.

“You've been strange all morning,” her friend explains. “You haven't insulted me once, or talked much at all, neither of which is like you.”

Octavia can't help the scowl that tugs at her mouth in response. It only grows upon seeing Claudia react with a smug grin.

“I'm fine,” Octavia counters. Of course, it comes out all wrong. Too defensive by half. And Claudia has always been able to read her like a scroll.

“O,” she presses, her voice low and serious. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing, go back to your naked lady.”

“Look me in the eye, then,” Claudia insists. Octavia had been staring intently at the drawing, and then her bracelet, then the drawing again, refusing to meet Claudia's stare directly. _Damn her and stupid blue eyes and her stupid intuition_ , she thinks crossly.

“O.”

One letter. That's all it takes. Octavia snaps her gaze up in annoyance, only to get trapped by Claudia's knowing look. She scowls and tosses the piece of copper to the floor. It clatters and skitters to a stop a few inches from Claudia's parchment.

“ _Fine,_ ” she huffs. Maybe it can't hurt to tell her now. Longinus and his men should already be set up and waiting, if not already engaged with the caravan. There's nothing Claudia can do about it. “Everything will be fine. I promise.”

Claudia sits suddenly upright, her focus now intent on her friend. “What do you mean, 'everything will be fine?' What's going on?” At Octavia's tightly pursed lips and narrowed eyes, Claudia takes a pause to think. She can see the gears turning in that blonde head of hers. Finally, a thought seems to occur to her and she goes very still.

“What have you done?” Claudia whispers it, tone cold as steel.

“Rusonius lied to you,” she begins quickly, feeling anger well up in her chest and color her speech with venom. “He's still moving Lexa out of the city. I know you thought you could trick him into keeping her here, dangle your pretty face in his lap in the hopes that he would step back from his plans to take over the ludus, but he can't be trusted, Claudia.”

Her friend practically jumps to her feet and Octavia springs up to meet her, catching her by the bicep and preventing her from sprinting away.

“We weren't about to sit idly by and let this man destroy everything for you,” she goes on, letting her voice get louder. Claudia wrenches her arm free and takes a step away.

“Where are they?” she asks, eerily calm. Octavia hates when she does this. She's better at fighting things out in the open, yelling, or even using fists. Not this cold, emotionless, unpredictable shit at which Claudia seemingly excels.

“It's too late, Claud, it's already done,” she offers instead.

“Where ARE they, Octavia?”

“The original plan.” Claudia closes her eyes and Octavia barrels on, unable to stop herself. “We picked a spot and set up the ambush. They'll be back with Lexa before you know it. Longinus and his men will keep Marcus safe. And we can all move on.”

"My husband is with them?” Claudia shouts. _Shit_. Octavia clamps her mouth shut, lest she say something else stupid. At least Claudia is showing actual emotion again, though. Even if it is murderous rage generally directed at her.

“We tried to leave him out of it but the stubborn fool insisted,” she explains. Claudia winces.

“Septima!” she yells to the air. A matronly servant woman rushes into the room and comes quickly to Claudia's side, head bowed.

“Yes, domina?”

“Have my horse readied immediately,” she says flatly. Octavia sighs, exasperated.

"Claudia.”

“And tell Cassius I require him to escort me, along with another man of his choosing. Someone he trusts.”

“ _Claudia,”_ she tries again. The servant bows in acknowledgment and hurries away just as Claudia finally turns to face Octavia once again. There is a coldness and determination to her look that Octavia has only seen on rare occasions, none of them good. “Please, just trust us. Wait here. They will return before the day is out. Don't do something that will make this all worse.”

“You know me better than this, O,” Claudia answers. The skein of icy stillness drops for a moment and once again Octavia sees the face of her friend looking at her with something like a plea. “What would you do, if you were me?”

“That's not fair, our positions are not at all like,” she counters. When Claudia only continues to search her face, silent and intent, Octavia can't help but shift restlessly. Finally, giving in, she casts her eyes downward. “I would go after him, of course.”

Claudia nods, jaw clenched, and briefly cups Octavia's shoulder with her hand. Then, just as quickly, she turns and heads off down a hallway that leads to the ludus stables. After sending a curse to the heavens, Octavia rushes to follow suit.

~*~

They're too late, of course.

By the time their heaving, frothed up horses crest the hill overlooking one side of the road-turned-battlefield, the fight is all but done. Claudia can immediately see that Longinus' well-trained soldiers have thoroughly outmatched whatever ragtag group of mercenaries Rusonius had thought to hire for the journey. Many of the men lie limp and bloodied along the sides of the various litters and wagons, the terrified servants huddled together in a central clump. There is still some man-to-man fighting near the back, however, where it's clear that extra guards had been assigned for an armored wagon with, presumably, more precious cargo.

Claudia sees Longinus' imposing form there, engaged in a brutal sword and fist fight with another man of equal size. A handful of his men are also battling it out with the remainder of Rusonius' guards nearby, and a moment later she catches sight of Marcus. He's hacking away at the lock on the wagon door with a hammer, his face streaked with dirt and sweat, but otherwise he looks unharmed. She allows herself a moment of relief before spurring her horse onward down the hill. She can hear Octavia following close behind, along with Cassius and the other man he'd picked to ride along.

As they make their way, Claudia sees Marcus succeed in breaking the padlock. He yanks the heavy wood and metal door open, and almost immediately Lexa lunges forward out of the darkness, eyes wide and alert, the braids of her long brown hair mussed and wild. She's still dressed much as she was in the arena, the basic leather armor now caked with dirt and other filth. Claudia can see, too, that Lexa's skin is festooned with ugly bruises and cuts, including a welt on one of her high cheekbones that's caused a great deal of swelling near her eye.

Still, it's clear when Lexa catches sight of Claudia and her retinue approaching. Her green eyes narrow dangerously for a moment before she pushes past a startled Marcus and reaches immediately for a newly owner-less sword on the ground nearby. For a moment, Claudia is sure Lexa is going to run Marcus through with the blade, but instead she whirls and blocks the downward swing of a spiked club that had been aimed for his head. Behind him, one of Rusonius' guards lets out a grunt as Lexa follows up with kick to his abdomen, sending him sprawling back into the dirt alongside the roadway.

As the two tussle with one another a few feet away, Marcus turns away to seek out the hammer he'd dropped when Lexa had emerged so forcefully from the wagon. As he bends over to retrieve it, his eyes lock with Claudia's. She stops the horse several yards away and dismounts quickly, not waiting for the others to follow but trusting that they will. Her husband looks dumbfounded at the sight of her, but then a triumphant smile replaces his shock.

She walks toward him at a brisk but measured pace, keeping the other fighting men in her peripheral vision. Lexa has subdued the man with whom she'd engaged, straddling him now in the dirt and landing a few final blows to the face. Claudia is all of a yard away when her attention is snapped abruptly back to her husband, who has gone suddenly pale, eyes wide with shock.

Claudia stops dead in her tracks, the breath stolen from her lungs. She glances down at the shining, blood stained blade now protruding from Marcus' belly. It's gone again in an instant, leaving behind a thin red slit that mars the front of his tunic. Marcus clutches at the gash and blood spills out around his fingers, coating them crimson. Behind him, a man she only just recognizes stands with a sword in his hand.

“Marcus!”

The name seems to explode from her throat unbidden. Everything moves as though slowed motions. Marcus collapses to his knees, eyes still wide and glassy with utter surprise. The man who ran him through raises the sword above his head, primed to drive it down through the base of his neck to finish the job. Somewhere behind her, Claudia hears Octavia shout something but so much of her focus is on the horror happening in front of her that she doesn't hear what it is.

Then, Lexa jumps away from the guard she's just finished killing and leaps toward the other man, angling her body like a battering ram. As soon as she makes contact with his torso, Claudia feels herself snap back into real time. Warrior and stranger tumble away from the wagon in a tangle of limbs and grunts. Claudia sees Longinus rush over and dive into the fray to help Lexa, so she turns back to her husband, rushing to kneel beside him and press her hand into his wound, trying to stanch the flow of blood.

Marcus wobbles on his knees before sitting back heavily onto his feet. A thin line of blood is already trickling from one corner of his mouth.

“Marcus, you're all right, I've got you,” she hears herself saying. Claudia removes the leather satchel she'd brought along from across her shoulders and pulls out a long strip of fresh linen. She wads it up and pushes it hard into the exit wound at his stomach, watching in dismay as it almost immediately soils through.

Octavia is at her side then, asking how she can help. Almost automatically, Claudia tells her to find more cloth, anything even vaguely clean, to help stop the flow of blood from the matching wounds on Marcus' front and back. As her friend rushes off to obey the orders, Marcus reaches out an unsteady hand and touches her shoulder.

“My love,” he says around a cough. “Claudia, it's done. We won. It's all right.”

“Hush now,” she counters gently, trying to brush off his attempts to stop her movements. Octavia returns with more strips of cloth and she sets about pushing them into the wound and then wrapping another around his body to secure them in place. “We'll get you to the medicus and take care of this. You'll be fine.”

Marcus leans back heavily into her arms as she finishes tying off the last of the bandages, letting his head rest in the crook of her arm. It finally succeeds in stilling her frantic movements. Octavia sits a few feet away, face pale. Longinus is suddenly nearby, too, standing behind his wife and staring with what looks very much like anguish at the scene in front of him. Further away, standing silent and still over the motionless body of the man who'd stabbed Marcus, Lexa simply watches, her face set in a grim mask.

“I told you,” he begins to speak again. Claudia turns her full attention to Marcus now, holding him hard against her chest with one arm and using the other to apply pressure to the wound at his belly. “I told you I could do this. That we could get her back for you.”

“Shh.” She kisses the side of his head and can feel the clamminess of his skin. Marcus' breathing is becoming more and more labored with each passing moment, too, small shutters running through his body. “Save your strength, husband. We can get through this.”

“Claud,” he goes on, eyes closed now. “Don't let him take it. Don't let him take you.”

“I won't, Marcus,” she whispers directly into the shell of his ear. “I won't but stay with me, all right? Stay with me.”

Claudia feels him take a long, shuddering breath and then release it in a wheeze. His body goes limp in her arms after that, all of the tension and pain releasing in the passing of an instant. She holds him closer to her, pressing her face into his hair where it had grown a little shaggy at the edges. A formless, howling grief bubbles up from her gut and into her brain, wrenching one sudden, loud sob from somewhere deep in her throat.

She slides out from under Marcus' lifeless body and lays it carefully on the ground before getting to her feet. Her robes and hands are covered in blood that's still warm but she ignores it, focusing her attention inward. Octavia stands, too, though she takes a step back from her, unnerved at the sudden turn.

Longinus opens his mouth to speak but one sharp glance from Claudia stops him cold. The assembled group looks on, waiting, as the sun dips below the tree line and evening begins to settle over the eerily quiet scene.

Several, powerful emotions are all vying for dominance within her at that moment. The one that's the most potent, the most able to show her a way forward instead of providing an abyss to plunge into, rises up fiery and hot in her chest and she clings to it. Steadies herself with it. Across the body and debris strewn road she finds Lexa and meets her unflinching gaze. The woman looks back at her with naked disdain, and why shouldn't she? For all Lexa knows Claudia set her up to face one of her own people in the arena. Used her for fame, glory, fortune, and sex and then allowed he to be sold off to yet another Roman nobleman who could use her as he pleased. And the gods know what Rusonius has done to her in the meantime.

She's been such a _fool_. Allowed herself to be played like a lyre by the lot of these fucking _nobles_ and their savage idea of civilization. And now Marcus, the damn proud fool, is dead because of it.

No more. She's done playing by other people's rules.

Somewhere a horse whinnies nervously and it pulls Claudia from her darkening thoughts. She pulls her gaze away from Lexa and looks to Octavia and Longinus, who stare back expectantly. And then she speaks.

“I want it all to burn.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, we had a lot of stuff to do in this chapter! You might have also noticed that there's now an actual chapter count for this fic, too. I've actually got the whole thing outlined/plotted out now, which is exciting! There's always a chance it'll take me an extra chapter in the end to tell it right, but the important thing is there's a *plan* - yay.
> 
> Thank you, as always and very sincerely, for all of your excellent feedback/comments/kudos. Entirely amazing. Please tell your friends to come by and say hi, too--I can always use the boost (especially as 2016 adds its final insults before coming to a merciful fucking end). Enjoy!


	11. Aliquid Ardet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claudia makes plans to flee Rome while trying to repair things with Lexa, Ave deals with a world upended.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait between chapters again. This month has been, in the words of a friend, a "fuck storm" - in more ways than one. I drove halfway across the country to take part in the Women's March in DC, for one. In the midst of the organizing and fighting back against so much bullshit, though, I'm still writing. This story is becoming all the more important to me, frankly, especially with where it's plotted to go/themes it's going to get more into. I hope you'll stick with me. And hey, take care of yourself and each other. We need to stick together and have each others' backs, now more than ever.

There is no moon that night. The group returns to a quiet ludus, though the servants have lit fires in the braziers and candles line the central courtyard. Claudia takes it all in as the others move around her, hurrying to gather up supplies. Octavia goes to her personal quarters to collect a few items of clothing, tools, and other sundries. Longinus heads to the gladiator's quarters, where she's ordered him to rouse Cassius and have him ready their best fighters for the journey ahead.

They have to leave. She knew it the moment the last breath left Marcus' body as he lay heavy in her arms. With her husband dead, the ludus becomes a prime target for any man interested. She has no claim to it, even as an ostensibly noble Roman woman. If Ave is successful in bringing back the elder Marcus, it will go to him. If not, or even in the meantime, Rusonius is all but guaranteed to make a move on both the ludus and her hand.

Claudia isn't about to sit around and wait for everything to fall apart.

She hasn't spoken a word to Lexa since the ambush. The Pictish woman is with them still, though, hovering—more like brooding—in the threshold between the courtyard where Claudia stands and the outer hallway of the house. Muscles taut and twitching, she stands like an anxious creature, unsure if it wants to leap forward and strike or just run away.

_I want it all to burn._

She'd meant it—still does—but the logical part of her brain has once again taken over. She has people other than herself to think about, after all. Otherwise Claudia would simply go to Rusonius' villa and set herself on fire in the center of it, hoping to take it and him along with her. Some smoldering black core in the pit of her wants nothing more. Something else much more powerful, however, wants to live—and to see those responsible for all of this paid back in kind, and in blood.

Claudia turns and faces Lexa's shadowed figured. The firelight flickers across her face, casting her already pronounced cheekbones into even starker relief. Her green eyes look inky black, and they regard her with a mix of anger and pain. Claudia takes a breath and swallows, meeting her stare head-on.

“I'm sorry.”

The simple pronouncement appears to catch Lexa off guard. There's the subtlest slackening of her jaw where it had been clenched tight, and her eyes go just a bit wide.

“I never meant to turn you into this,” Claudia goes on, voice practically a whisper. She'd wanted to say something else entirely. She had a whole speech planned out, something to explain that she had nothing to do with setting up the fight with a fellow Pict, that she'd wanted more for Lexa as a gladiator, that she hoped they might continue to work together in the fight ahead. But then she looked at the woman, and thought of her own past trials, and Marcus' blood warm on her hands, and everything else—and the apology just slipped out.

For a moment, Lexa looks as though the admission has only angered her further. Her nostrils flare and her jaw clenches once again, fist tightening around the blade she'd salvaged from one of the dead guards. Claudia holds her breath. Suddenly though, she sees all of Lexa's muscles relax. She lays the sword on the tiled floor, carefully, and takes two steps away from it and toward Claudia.

“What do you want from me?” Lexa says it simply and without breaking eye contact. It's Claudia's turn to be caught flat footed.

“That's not...I don't...” she starts and stops, feeling suddenly defensive. Lexa shakes her head and any further words die in her throat.

“Dominus is dead,” she says. Claudia feels the truth of it like a knife to her heart and tries to stifle a wince in response. “You are going to run from this other man, this senator, who took me,” Lexa continues. “I am thinking I am no longer anyone's slave, now. I am free. So if you want anything more from me, you will need to ask. And I will decide what I will do.”

It's true, of course. Marcus is dead and they've essentially stolen her from the man with a current claim to her. And if it is a clean start Claudia wants, free from Rusonius and Rome as a whole (and it is; she knows that know with startling clarity), then it's only right to allow Lexa the same chance.

If 'allow' is even the right word. She's pretty sure Lexa could fight her way out of the ludus right now without too much trouble. She could certainly kill Claudia if she so wished. It's nearly guaranteed she would be intercepted after that, however. It's highly unlikely she'd make it out of the city alive. Rusonius will have scores of men looking for her come the morning, and a pissed off warrior woman covered in tattoos will make an easy-to-spot target.

Lexa will need Claudia and her people if she has any hope of escape and retribution. And Claudia may need someone with knowledge of the lands north of Rome in order to have any hope of the same. They need each other.

And Claudia isn't particularly keen on giving up any chance of reconciling with Lexa more personally, either. It just cannot be something she thinks about now, when so much depends on keeping a clear head. No matter how badly she might like to fling herself into Lexa's arms and hope that she'd fuck her into forgetting the pile of shit they're all in now. At least for a little while.

_Focus._

“We can help each other,” Claudia says. At Lexa's unchanged expression, she goes on. “You'll need help getting out of the city without being caught and returned to slavery. I'll need help once we're out in the wild, and when we go north.”

When the word 'north' is uttered Lexa's eyes seem to catch fire. She tilts her head up, regarding Claudia over the bridge of her nose.

“You would go north, away from your people?”  
  
“My people will be with me,” Claudia responds flatly. “I'm sending word to Avecita for her to meet up with us once she returns from Alexandria. Beyond that, Rome is not mine. I've tried to...there's nothing more for me here. I should have gone a long time ago, truth be told, but I allowed myself to get caught up in the trappings of playing domina. I thought it might bring me some measure of success I couldn't find anywhere else, as a woman.” She wants, so very badly, to reach out to touch Lexa, but stops herself before a hand can even twitch. “All I've found is humiliation, and pain, and death.”

Claudia can feel her emotions getting the better of her, a sob working its way up through her chest and threatening to break her voice. She takes a steadying breath and wills her heart to be stone—that old trick again, learned through early tragedies.

“We'll get you out of the city,” she goes on after a moment, eyes trained again on Lexa's unwavering stare. “And then, if you're willing, we'll help you drive Rome from your homeland.”

The offer appears to hit its mark. Lexa looks nothing if not deeply, intensely interested now and she takes another step closer to Claudia.

“You would do this?” she says. Her voice is strangely higher pitched, and Claudia blinks back surprise at the naked emotion visible on her face. _Hope_. It looks like hope. It renders Lexa's features, for the flicker of a moment, almost childlike, wiping away burdens borne of years at war. Then, as quickly as it had gone, the steely mask slips back over her face. “How can I trust you to keep your word?”

“Rome has taken much from me,” she answers darkly. “I would see much taken from Rome. Trust that. Trust my commitment to vengeance.”

Suddenly, the remaining distance between them disappears. Lexa moves so fast Claudia blinks and then the woman is practically pressed to her front, noses just inches apart. For a split second she's sure Lexa is about to kiss her, fiercely, and a hot spike of arousal rockets to her center.

A breath lands on her face, instead, and Lexa doesn't close the final gap. Claudia stumbles backwards a step and tries to collect herself. A firm hand grips her wrist and holds her in place, stops her from backing up any further.

“You speak of vengeance as though you truly know loss,” Lexa growls from between clenched teeth. Startled, Claudia opens her mouth to retort but a harsh squeeze at her wrist stops her cold. “You know nothing of loss, Roman,” Lexa goes on, all quiet fury. “Loss is watching while your whole village is plundered, your friends raped and murdered, children torn apart by dogs, and then all of it... _all_ of it...burned to the ground. Loss is fighting every day of your life to repel those invaders who would insist that you and your people are no more than animals, and treat you worse, only to see the men and women who bravely fought by your side, at your command, die and die and die until there's nothing but the smell of blood and death in your nose, and mud in your eyes. And just when you think you might at least be granted a good, clean death on the battlefield, when you're ready to join your kinsmen in whatever comes next, loss is instead being forced into bondage, made to fight for the entertainment of your conquerors. I may have shared your bed, yes, because I am weak and I wanted something of _living_ again. But you and I...we are not the same. I owe you nothing.”

It is, by far, the most Claudia has ever heard the woman say in a single go. _Her growing grasp of the language is impressive,_ she thinks briefly. The effort and strangeness of it has a clear effect on Lexa, who stands still before her, breaths coming in sharp bursts from flared nostrils.

“You owe me nothing,” she says after a moment of heavy silence. The simple agreement seems to bring Lexa back from whatever edge she'd been teetering on, and she drops her hand from Claudia's wrist. “Though you and I have more in common that you know, it seems. But I am asking you to help me, and offering you whatever we can do to help you in return. That is all. It's up to you what to do.”

The sound of light but rapid footfalls breaks the tense moment as Octavia and Longinus both enter the courtyard. Claudia takes a step away from Lexa, putting a more respectable distance between them, and tries to look as though nothing is amiss. Octavia still gives a tight-lipped, knowing look as she approaches, but otherwise doesn't comment.

“Cassius is preparing the men you asked for, Claudia,” says Longinus. “I regret that I cannot bring my own men to accompany us on this journey, but it wouldn't be right to ask such a thing of them. They have families.”

“No, it's all right,” she says, nodding. “I understand. Please send along my gratitude for all of their help, in addition to their payment.”

“We should be ready to leave very soon,” Octavia chimes in. “Everything is almost ready. I just need to get the letter out to Ave to let her know what's happened.” She pauses then, eyes flicking between Claudia and the still tense Pictish woman. “Are you sure there's nothing else to be done here? Rusonius is likely to come after us. We could hire someone to go after him--”

“No,” Claudia cuts her off, shaking her head. “There is no time. Let him come if he does. We'll be ready.”

Both Longinus and Lexa give curt nods of agreement, almost in unison, and Claudia can't help but crack a smirk at the two warriors.

“Then let us make haste,” she adds. Octavia and Longinus rush to gather their own personal belongings and Lexa goes to retrieve her sword from the floor. For a moment, Claudia wonders if she will simply walk out of the courtyard and leave them, and her stomach twists at the thought. Instead, Lexa stands ramrod straight and regards her with something that looks very much like dark anticipation.

“Lead the way,” she says, and Claudia practically has to bite her lip to keep from allowing a smile to split her entire face. “You get me out of Rome and I will help you go north. Beyond that, we will have to wait and see.”

Claudia nods, her hopeful excitement tempered by Lexa's final statement. The other woman's eyes are all steel, her voice low and firm. Claudia can't help but wonder if she's lost all chance of reconciliation, then. She pushes the worry into a tight corner of her chest and turns her thoughts to the present moment, and the plans that are now in inexorable motion. Leaving Rome. Leaving everything.

 

~*~

 

The journey from Alexandra to Rome had been exhausting and painful. The state of Ave's wounded leg would have made it difficult enough, but their crossing had also been beset by foul weather. Between the seasickness and the throbbing in her flesh, it was all Ave could do to stay conscious.

Her husband had, of course, been little help. As was his usual routine, he'd found several bottles of rum right away and disappeared into a stupor for the majority of the trip. Blandus was left to somewhat begrudgingly care for her, a reality that only made her all the more irritable. The last thing she wanted was to be dependent on anyone, let alone him.

There's also the issue of keeping an eye on Kain, who they have in chains, a few household guards tasked with watching over the surly, sullen man.

But she can't walk. Kain's knife cut her deeply, apparently severing a cord needed for having any feeling in her left leg--or so the medicus gravely informed her once she'd regained consciousness after the altercation. She's still barely had time to really process what happened and what this means for her life. The medicus sent her off with several plugs of opium to help with the pain. The daze it put her in left her without memory of even boarding the ship. Eventually she insisted on moving away from its too intensely discomfiting effects and onto a steady diet of wine seasoned with henbane. That at least makes her a little cheerful.

There's still so much pain.

The first stop upon arriving back in Rome is to her husband's villa. Blandus sends ahead for a local surgeon to come and attend to her injury, but the man is so incompetent she verbally abuses him until he leaves in a huff. Instead, she asks after an inventor friend, who brings by supplies and works with her to create a special splint for her leg that, with the additional aid of crutches, allows her to move about on her own.

Still, it galls her to be so vulnerable and dependent on others to help her with basic needs. Half the time she wants to bite Blandus' head off, and the other half she's practically in tears with gratitude when he inevitably shows up and helps her off the floor, or into the bathtub, or one particularly embarrassing moment when she'd fallen half into the privy.

A few days after their arrival home she demands to visit Claudia's ludus. She's impatient to reunite with her friends and relay the news of what's happened with Kain, and suspects they'll have updates of their own. It already feels like so much time has been wasted because of her injury, and Ave is ready to crawl out of her own skin with impatience.

Against Blandus' wishes, she arranges for a litter to take her to the ludus first thing in the morning. She insists that he stay behind to further interrogate Kain, and takes along a couple of her more capable servants instead.

Rain clouds hang heavy over the city, unleashing fat drops of water onto formerly dusty streets. The odd but unmistakable scent of it fills her nostrils as they navigate the winding streets—fresh and tangy, like ocean spray without the salt. She's nervous for her friends to see her like this, and for their next steps. There's so much to do to put things right. Still, the excitement at being reunited with Claudia and Octavia is just as palpable. Her stomach clenches a little every time she thinks about seeing those keen black eyes again, worrying over what O will think of her now that she's lame.

Upon approach to the main gates of the ludus, though, Ave knows immediately that something is wrong. She doesn't recognize the guards standing sentinel on either side of the columns that frame the entrance. More concerning, the banner of the House Gratidius no longer flutters from its pole atop the entrance. The colors are different entirely, and her heart seems to drop as recognition dawns.

_Rusonius._

Before she can tell her servants to stop and turn the litter around, there's a commotion just inside the gates. A bald headed servant rushes out into the small courtyard to meet them, standing so that his body blocks the passage back out to the street.

“Good lady,” he says, head bowed, “the Senator is glad you have come, and would like a word with you inside.”

Ave's own servants eye her nervously, awaiting orders. They're smart enough to realize something has gone terribly wrong. She knows they've wandered into a trap. The pieces fall into place with startling speed: Likely word got to Rusonius of her arrival back in Rome almost immediately, and he's probably had a spy ready and waiting to send word of her setting out to find Claudia at the ludus. She wants to slap herself for being so stupid, for letting the drugs and her wound distract her so much that she failed to see this might be a possibility. She should have sent word to Claudia immediately upon her return.

There's no time for mental recriminations just now, though. Ave's mind races, trying to find an angle that will get her out of the situation she's about to walk—limp—into. Her servants are capable of protecting her if need be, but fighting Rusonius' guards would almost assuredly get them killed. She's not so cruel as that.

Teeth gritted, Ave takes the hand of one of her men and gingerly gets to her feet. She maneuvers the crutches under each arm and slowly follows Rusonius' servant through the gate and into the living quarters of the ludus. It's all so familiar and yet unsettling in how the senator has already begun to move in and change the space. There's a great buzz of activity from his various servants and advisers, most seemingly focused on moving his possessions in and redecorating.

Her servants move to follow her into the building but the guards quickly impede their progress. Ave turns to protest to Rusonius' man, but he simply purses his lips and shakes his head. She's alone, then. She can't run, and certainly doesn't stand a chance of fighting. It's her wits against the world. Ave pulls in a steadying breath and straightens herself as much as she can, chin raised. She'll be damned if she goes out meekly, anyway.

The servant leads her to what used to be Marcus' office. His old desk is still there, but seated behind it now is Rusonius. He's hunched over a scroll, reading intently, a stack of other bits of parchment at one elbow, a quill and ink at the other. At the sound of Ave's crutches tapping the stone floor of the room, the senator looks up and blinks, trying to refocus.

“Avecita,” he says cheerfully. She resists the urge to spit at him.

“Senator Rusonius,” Ave replies instead.

“Please, have a seat,” he goes on, indicating a low wooden chair on Ave's side of the desk. “I am sorry to see you unwell.”

Ave stands silently for a moment, deciding whether or not to defy the invitation and remain standing. Finally, deciding that needlessly exhausting herself further will do her no good, she sits. It's all she can do not to groan in gratitude at being able to take the weight off her leg. Instead, she levels her iciest stare at the senator and remains quiet.

“I imagine you will be wondering what has happened here in your absence,” says Rusonius. “As you can see, I have taken over the ludus. It had not been my intention, of course--” _Bullshit_ , Ave thinks. “--but events unfolded that necessitated the move. Marcus and his men ambushed my own people, stealing valuable property. He was killed in the fight, but his wife then left the city with that property.”

Ave takes in the news with as little outward show of emotion as she can manage, but learning of Marcus' death is a shock. Add to that the fact that Claudia—and perhaps Octavia and Longinus as well, given what she knows of them—has left Rome entirely, and it takes all of her power to keep her face a stony mask. Rusonius takes the pause in his story to stand up and come around to the front of the desk, an arms' length from where she sits. He leans back against the wood and clasps his hands in front of his waist.

“I am honor bound to find her and see my rightful property returned, you understand,” he says. She wants nothing more than to punch him, or reach out a crutch to pull his legs out from under him. The sincere, pitying look on his face is enough to make her blood boil. Still, she says nothing, though she has a sinking suspicion she knows exactly where this is headed. “I know the two of you are close. I think you can help me bring her to reason.”  
  
“What do you want?” Ave spits, her impatience getting the best of her at last. Rusonius grimaces.

“I want you to stay here at the ludus, with me, until such time as your friend comes to her senses and returns what is mine,” he explains. Rusonius turns and retrieves a piece of parchment from the desk, this one separate from the main pile, and holds it out to Ave. Hesitantly, she takes it, keeping her eyes on him long enough to see him nod. She looks down and instantly recognizes the looping handwriting there.

_Ave – I am sorry we had to leave before your return. Much has changed. I will explain when next I see you, but for now trust that I am doing what I think is best. O & L are with me and we are safe. You should stay in Rome and we will send word as soon as we are able. We will use our usual messenger._

_Do not trust Senator R. Stay safe._

_-C_

When she looks up again the senator stares back expectantly, his brown eyes hooded.

“What can you tell me about that?” he asks. Ave crumples the parchment in her fist and lets it fall to the floor.

“Nothing. And you can't keep me here against my will,” she growls. “My husband will send his men.”

It's startling when he laughs. It's a grating, forced sound, and Ave finds herself wincing slightly in response.

“My dear,” he begins, leaning toward her slightly so that she can feel his breath on her face. “I am a senator of Rome. I have the emperor's favor. Do you think that useless lush of a husband is any threat to me?”

He's not wrong, of course. Ave's position is incredibly tenuous given the senator's own position and connections. So he intends to use her as bait, or a sort of collateral, to get Claudia to bring back whatever it is they took from him.

It's not how she'd hoped to spend the next little while of her life. But already Ave is thinking of ways she might use such close—if forced—proximity to exploit some weakness in the man. He is, after all, just a man. In her experience, they all have terribly predictable vulnerabilities.

Finally, Ave sighs and leans back in the chair, if only to get away from his sour breath.

“At least allow my servants to return to my home,” she says. Rusonius grins and leans back again.

“You'll need people to tend to you, won't you?” he counters lightly. “I'll have word sent to your husband that you will be a guest of the ludus for an indefinite amount of time, along with some small compensation for the trouble. I'm sure he'll understand.”

 _Gods damn it._ She'll need to find another way to get a message to Blandus. His help will likely be crucial to seeing through any plan, after all. Ave wants to scream at how helpless it all makes her feel. She shakes off the feeling as quickly as possible, though. Keeping a clear head has to be a priority.

Play along. It's the best bet for perhaps lulling the senator into believing she'll be docile and easy to win over, which means underestimating what she might do, which works in her favor. She lowers her eyes and stares at her hands in her lap, nodding slightly.

“As you say, then,” she mutters.

“Good girl.” Rusonius walks back around the desk and retakes his seat, a wide grin plastered across his face. “Tell me more about this messenger.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title, aliquid ardet, is Latin for "something burns."


	12. corvus oculum corvi non eruit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hail, Britania.
> 
> Claudia and Lexa's less-than-merry band make their way North and find things not as Lexa left them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there's no getting around it - this update comes much later than I'd hoped. So, first and foremost, THANK YOU for your patience and continued support for the work and my apologies for the delays. I am going to finish it! This chapter was originally much, much longer but in the interest of getting something posted sooner rather than later, I went ahead and chopped it into two parts. This is part the first, and the second should come along in about a week. (And you can blame the presence of an excellent lady in my life for my distraction - so I guess I'm not 100% sorry).
> 
> We're into a small time jump here, just FYI. Should be pretty well explained/easy to follow, though. As always, I adore comments and questions!

_Late winter, 130 CE, Britania_

 

Claudia is sure she will never be warm again in her life.

After the harrowing passage over the mountains, where a blizzard nearly drove them over the edge before it almost froze the entire party to death, they'd moved into more temperate lowlands just as the winter months began.

The journey through Gaul was one marked by mud and icy rain, with most nights spent under leaky tents in deep, dark woods. They had been fortunate to pass a few evenings in fire-warmed homes with residents hospitable enough to give shelter to the strangers from the south. Lexa helped whenever they encountered people with no love for Rome in their hearts, which was frequently. The Pict was remarkably adept at communicating despite language barriers, relying on hand signals and that intense, penetrating gaze of hers to cover the basics.

It was a little strange to be in the land of her forebears with no knowledge of it. Claudia's great grandparents on both sides had come from southern Gaul to Rome to seek opportunity, mostly as healers and builders. Both her father and mother used to tell her stories about them and some of the strange seeming customs they'd brought with them and had to keep secret, lest the Roman nobles with whom they were determined to win over find any reason at all to turn their noses up at the foreigners.

Northern Gaul, where they pass through, seems a harsh and unforgiving landscape and Claudia is glad she was spared a childhood within its borders. Still, some part of her wonders if the warm, easy climate of Rome makes her too soft. All the more reason to grin and bear the hard living now, and learn as much as she can from it.

Longinus took to the journey without much trouble at all, a testament to his many years spent on campaign. Octavia, she can tell, had suffered plenty but was doggedly determined to get through it without complaint. And she was a fast learner, prodding her husband into teaching her essential skills for the road like building shelters, hunting and tracking.

Now, as their motley group stands on a rocky shore at the edge of the isle she knows as Britania, Claudia can't help the proud smile that creeps across her face as she regards her friend. Octavia has long since discarded the robes and sandals she'd worn every day in Rome in favor of much more practical garb: fur lined boots that lace up to her knees and a cape to match, thick wool leggings and tunic hung over with padded leather armor that she traded for back in Gaul. The tanner looked positively ravenous when he caught site of the enormous boar Octavia felled and presented in return for the armor.

For her part, Claudia feels she's done her best to adapt to life on the road as well, though she still isn't much of a hunter. Instead, she's passed her time studying the different native plants, asking locals for information about those that might be used for medicinal purposes, those that are edible, and so forth. Using scraps of parchment salvaged from the goods they took from Rusonius' caravan, Claudia meticulously sketches the most notable plants, writing out their uses alongside.

She's also traded in her Roman dress for warmer and less attention-grabbing attire. One piece, a long woolen coat dyed deep blue and embellished with quilting along the shoulders, is a gift from Lexa. They'd been somewhere near the north coast of Gaul when a band of brigands attacked them along a muddy track. Between them, however, Claudia's small force of gladiators, a Pictish warrior, Longinus, and one pissed off Octavia, the half starved men didn't stand a chance. When all was said and done, Lexa took the surprisingly fine piece of clothing from one of the dead and tossed it at Claudia without a word.

The incident stands to represent the current state of their relationship. Things started off incredibly chilly between them, but over time and through the various trials and travails of the road, Claudia thinks she's finally begun to see a thaw in the other woman. Mostly, Lexa keeps to herself, but Claudia sometimes catches her staring out of the corner of her eye. Sometimes they even speak with one another, though usually about mundane details and logistics. And then, once in a while, and only recently, Lexa does something that actually represents a kindness, like the gift of the coat when she knew Claudia had been suffering from the cold.

Now Lexa is home. The expression on the other woman's face is one of clear relief and barely contained joy. Surely she never thought to set foot on this land again, and Claudia can't blame her for what must be an overwhelming rush of emotion. Still, Lexa only allows herself the briefest moment of open reverie at their having made it this far. The warrior turns back to the men on the boat that ferried them across the channel and offers a hard salute, which is returned in kind by the entire crew. Somehow, they found men who knew her name and reputation, and they'd volunteered to take them across the water without compensation.

Claudia is beginning to wonder just how well she truly knows Lexa or her story. Every step closer to the land of the Picts seems to reveal a little more of just how monumental a figure she's been to her people, and even those in neighboring tribes.

For now, she puts it to the back of her mind and focuses on the present. Lexa kneels and takes a handful of dirt in her hand, letting it fall through her fingertips, eyes closed. Then she stands, takes in a deep breath, and Claudia watches in fascination as her face seems to relax into what can only be called _peaceful_. It's not an expression Claudia has yet seen on the woman's features and it leaves her with an intensely bittersweet feeling.

The moment passes quickly, however. Lexa's face hardens again and she squares her shoulders and sets off at a brisk pace. The rest of the group hurries to follow. Clarke falls into step alongside Lexa, and they walk in silence for several miles before the other woman speaks.

“We are in my home now. _Fortriu_. We go north, to my village. We will be welcome by my people, but must stay hidden. It is likely your soldiers will be near. They are everywhere now.”

Claudia can only nod, careful to keep her face neutral. It's one of the longer sentences Lexa has spoken to her in weeks and Claudia waits to see if anything more is forthcoming. When only silence follows, she decides to try her luck. It's high time she at least got a better sense of what they'll be walking into. Lexa has been maddeningly stingy with details, though Claudia can't help but admire her resolve to be so guarded over several long months of travel in close quarters with people she clearly still sees as being inherently untrustworthy. She has to win her back, at least enough to insure that Claudia and her people will be safe in this strange new place.

“When I was a little girl my mother used to tell me stories about Gaul, about the village where my great grandfather and grandmother were both born,” she begins evenly, keeping her eyes trained on the landscape in front of them. They've passed over the rocky beachhead and onto low, grassy ridge with the crumbling remains of a stone wall dotting its middle. When Lexa says nothing in response, Claudia takes it as an opening to continue the story. “My people were healers. Have been for generations. It never mattered who ruled over them at the time, they went where they were needed to help when they could. I always admired that--such commitment to a greater good with little heed to the vagaries of political power.”

“It is honorable work,” Lexa says with a slight dip of her head. “Though even healers may be corrupted and made to favor some over others.”

“That is true,” Claudia acknowledges. “My grandfather—my mother's father--was one such man. He was determined that our family should rise to the nobility and schemed to see it done. Poured honey into the right ears. Lined certain pockets with gold. Traded favors and preferential treatment, even outright swindling a few high born families desperate to be given easy solutions to their problems. I didn't know him well, but I know he was fiercely committed to building our name.”

“It worked.”

Claudia finally turns her face to regard the woman next to her. Lexa keeps her green eyes forward, her jaw firmly set. Claudia closes her own eyes for a moment, eyebrows raised.

“Yes,” she concedes. “At great price.”

“Not so great a price that you didn't end up the wife of a prominent Roman, mistress to gladiators, owner of slaves, friend to the emperor,” Lexa counters. Though her tone remains the same as ever—low and even—the words cut. Claudia bristles inwardly but years of training help her maintain a calm facade. Still, she delivers her next words carefully.

“I did what I had to to survive,” Claudia begins. “I am not proud of it all, but I would not change it, for it brought me here, to this moment and this place.”

She catches Lexa's sidelong glance but continues without reacting.

“My grandfather pushed by my father into service during Emperor Hadrian's travels to quell rebellions in Mauretania and then Parthia. He despised military service, or so my mother told me, but went because his skills as an engineer were needed. And because his father-in-law insisted it would elevate the family's profile and income. I didn't see him for three years, and then word came that he had died of some camp disease. In the midst of our mourning my mother received word that my father had arranged to have a sum of money passed to me in the event of his death, but only once I was married. To help 'secure my future.'”

Claudia snorts despite herself before taking a breath to continue. She's gratified to note that she appears to have Lexa's full attention now. A steady and bitingly cold breeze lifts a few hairs that have strayed from the other woman's braids, curling them across her reddened cheeks. Claudia feels something clench in her chest and tries to shake it off. She has to concentrate. The next part of the story will be the hardest to tell.

“My mother promised she would help me find a good husband, even though I was young and had no desire for any such thing. But my grandfather got wind of the inheritance and plotted to make his own match, preferably with a man over whom he had sway to demand some cut of the inheritance. I didn't know any of this at the time, of course. It took a great and...painful...unraveling for all to be made clear.”

She feels her voice break slightly around the words and pauses to swallow it down and steady herself. The group has come to the remains of an earthen shelter. Its walls protect against the relentless wind off the open water and a rudimentary hearth is built into its middle. Longinus moves immediately to start a fire and suggests they all spend some time warming up and cooking a meal. No one objects.

Everyone has by now fallen into a set routine and job for setting up temporary camp. The gladiators set off to hunt for any fresh prey while Longinus and Octavia work on the fire and preparing some of the rations they still carry. Lexa walks the perimeter of the shelter and surveys the landscape around them, looking for potential threats and lines of escape. Claudia sets up a water capture device they've improvised for the road, using a treated skin stretched across the tops of the low scrub brush that lines the enclosure, sloped so that any moisture will flow down into a bronze basin. Guidgen has had the task of carrying the item on his pack since they were gifted with it by another of Lexa's admirers in Gaul. He'd grumbled about the added weight at first but the basin proved too useful to cast off.

By the time the sun begins to set—or at least, she assumes it's setting, given the way the sky goes from light to dark gray—they've settled into their camp for the night and are gnawing on the gamy meat of some local rodent brought back by Guidgen and Wazeba.

“You have no proper beasts in this barren land of yours, Pict?” Wazeba asks around bites of meat and mostly bone. Lexa grunts and shoots him an unimpressed look.

“We will find better hunting further inland,” she counters. “If your delicate nature can endure until then.”

Guidgen bursts into laughter and claps a hand across the shoulders of a cross looking Wazeba.

“We _could_ be eating week-old dried rabbit right now,” he grumbles in response.

“And we are grateful that we are not, friend,” Longinus interjects, ever the peacemaker. “I'm sure Lexa will repay the favor with one of those great, meaty, inland beasts as soon as she is able.”

The comment manages to elicit the slightest twinkle in Lexa's eye, Claudia notices, and the group goes back to light banter after that. Soon enough the food is gone and a cold night settles over them, pressing in at the edges of the warm circle of the fire. Longinus and Octavia bundle up together in their furs, with the two gladiators nestled close around them. In the chill weather propriety has long since given way to survival.

Claudia arranges herself on the other side of Octavia, and fully expects her back to remain cold, as it has throughout their travels. But then a warm body slides in behind her and spoons up close, and another thick fur is pulled over her body. She feels Lexa's breath at her neck and can't stop the resulting tingle that spreads over her skin. Moments stretch by with only the sound of wind whistling overhead and the fire crackling nearby. Claudia closes her eyes and wills sleep to come, but her senses feel razor sharp in response to the proximity of the woman at her back.

Finally, just as she can finally feel sleep tugging at the edges of her consciousness, the low vibration of speech tickles her ear and her back where Lexa is pressed against her.

“What did your grandfather do?”

Claudia carefully rolls over so that she's facing Lexa, their faces close enough that they're sharing breath. The other woman doesn't flinch, but Claudia can see her swallow hard. She takes some small comfort in her ability to have any effect on her at all.

“He tried to arrange my marriage to a man three times my age--a nobleman who'd found himself in enough debt to take the deal,” she begins, keeping her voice as quiet as possible. “My mother found out, though, and tried to intervene. She believed I should have some say in the match, and that it should be someone closer to my age. My mother was...formidable, when she set her mind to something.” A rueful smile touches her face at the memory. Just as quickly, however, she feels herself sober at what's to come. “My mother and my grandfather never saw eye to eye. He never approved of her picking my father to marry, deeming him too low-born, and her too strong-willed. My mother secretly trained in medicine, despite the objections of her family, as they did not believe women had any place in the practice. Their relationship had always been precarious, and once father died, she was even more vulnerable to his whims. Grandfather had his connections and used them to isolate my mother, leave her with no option but to concede to his plan. On the night I was to first meet my intended, Antonius, he and grandfather got deep into their cups. My mother and I excused ourselves to retire for the evening, but Antonius found his way into my chambers.”

Lexa's eyes go steely as Claudia finishes the sentence, pain clearly etched into her own features at recalling the incident. She stops at the look from the other woman and tries to soften her own expression. “It's done now, in the past.”

“But you were hurt,” Lexa counters, her voice soft but firm.

“My mother heard me fighting and rushed in...saw him with me and.... She killed him.”

At this, Lexa takes a deep breath, nostrils flared. She looks satisfied, if still somewhat on edge. Claudia goes on, every last ounce of control going into keeping her voice even, to keep at bay the tears that threaten to well up as the memories play out.

“Everything was a blur. I remember the blood from his wound covering my shift, how hot it felt. I remember my mother screaming at him. I think I cried, I think I would have done that, but later I noticed my knuckles were raw and bleeding, like I'd been hitting him, too. Or maybe that came later, after what grandfather did....” She closes her eyes and tries to make herself feel nothing, to turn once more to stone, but this time all she can feel is the heat of that night, the pain in her body and the chaos in her head. And the pale, stricken face of her mother, staring lifelessly up from the stone floor.

Suddenly, she feels the lightest touch at her cheek and blinks her eyes open once more. Lexa gazes back, looking thoughtful and almost... _concerned._ That's new.

“It's all right, you're here now. You're safe,” she says. Claudia latches onto the words and lets herself come back to the present moment. She roots herself, unashamedly pulling as much comfort and reassurance as she can from Lexa's unexpectedly kind gesture.

Once the lump in her throat shrinks back to a manageable size, Claudia goes on. “He murdered her, for what she did. Right in front of me. I couldn't stop it. I tried, but I couldn't, I wasn't strong enough.”

The tears have finally come, despite her best efforts, and Claudia feels her cheeks burn with shame. And then, once again, Lexa surprises her. She brings a thumb to the corners of Claudia's eyes and gently wipes away the moisture there, saying nothing, patiently waiting for the spell to pass in its own time. Claudia feels a swell of gratitude battle with the bitter notion that Lexa has been all but lost to her over the last hard months. Despite the current kindness, she's certain that any chance they may have had at a more lasting intimacy is gone, replaced, at best, by this fragile truce. Honestly, she'll take what she can get, but it doesn't stop the pang of regret.

Claudia sucks in a steadying breath and blinks away the last of the tears. She stifles a cry of loss as Lexa retracts her hand and goes back to regarding her with some infuriatingly unknowable expression.

“I never knew my parents.”

The admission is startling, and it makes Claudia snap to attention. She searches Lexa's face, willing her to go on. She knows almost nothing about the woman's personal past. Lexa's confidences are exceedingly rare, and Claudia finds herself holding her breath, afraid of doing anything that might shatter the fragile moment. It feels like there is no word outside the inches of space that separate their faces, the warm press of bodies, the close sound of Lexa's breath.

“My father was killed during a raid and my mother died when I was an infant,” she went on at last. Claudia exhaled. “I was raised by relatives in the village. You may meet some of them soon.”

“I would like that,” Claudia says. Lexa nods.

“Many of my people were killed, first by so many Roman raids, then when they followed me into rebellion.” Her face turns stony. “I do not know how many remain. But my people are strong, they will have found a way to survive.”

Claudia is thoughtful for a moment. She imagines Lexa as a girl, all long limbs and unruly hair, learning to fight and eventually to lead. Was she ever allowed to be a child, or was she always this serious warrior, burdened with the needs of her people, with the seemingly unending fight simply to survive? She can't help but feel guilt that the Roman juggernaut is the main culprit in Lexa's war torn life. Even if she has no more love for the empire than would a slave, the truth is that she has benefited from its privileges. She hasn't spent her whole life fighting those sorts of battles.

“Life should be about more than just survival,” she says at last, meeting Lexa's stare dead on. “Don't we deserve more than that?”

“Maybe we do,” Lexa says. She swallows hard again, lips parting ever so slightly, like she's caught between what to do next. Claudia reflexively holds her breath again, mind racing with possibility, unsure of what happens now.

Before either of them can make a move, though, a rough slap between Claudia's shoulder blades rudely jars her from the moment.

“Stop flirting and go to sleep,” Octavia's low, raspy voice growls out into the night air. “It's too damn cold to fuck, anyway.”

Claudia feels her cheeks color and she chuckles in spite of herself. Lexa, to her credit, looks properly contrite. If she didn't know better, Claudia would even swear the hint of a grin cracks the woman's otherwise stoic visage.

“Good night, Claudia,” Lexa says. She pauses for a split second, and then turns onto her other side, facing away though still tucked up closely to share body heat.

The next morning neither woman talks about their conversation from the night before. Instead, everyone dives into the journey north with seemingly renewed vigor. They're close to an actual destination where they might find rest for more than just a few days, and the sun has finally broken through the clouds for the first time in weeks.

The tense air between Claudia and Lexa has lifted, though, and she finds herself reveling in the new, if still mostly quiet, easiness they share. In bits and pieces over the next few days Lexa tells her more about what life was like in her village when she was growing up, mostly focusing on pleasant details of home life and her training, and leaving out the episodes of conflict almost entirely. Claudia doesn't push, sensing that Lexa has not had the opportunity or reason to feel hope that she might ever reconnect with her people. She simply listens.

After Lexa was orphaned, she learns, she was raised specifically by a grandmother and an uncle and various village elders. Her childhood was difficult in the way that Claudia thinks it must be for anyone raised well away from organized society, where everyone is expected to pitch in with the day-to-day work of survival from a very young age. Otherwise, it seems that, at least for a little while, Lexa was _happy._ Certainly, she makes it sound as though she was doted on by her relatives. When she showed an interest in a warriors' art, she was allowed and encouraged to apprentice with the village chieftain, who took on a number of young pupils.

Claudia learns as much from what Lexa leaves out and skirts around as she does from what she says, too. At some point when Lexa was probably just moving from adolescence to womanhood there must have been a relatively cataclysmic event, because it would have been around the time when she herself suddenly became chieftain and embarked on a seemingly endless campaign against Roman invaders. But Lexa doesn't reveal much in the way of detail about any of that, and Claudia is, as usual, left with more questions than answers.

They pass first through empty pastureland along the coast, then scattered patches of woods but far more cultivated land as they forge inland. Low stone walls denote boundary lines in a patchwork that must resemble a rough quilt if viewed by the great black birds that fly in groups overhead. Almost immediately, it becomes clear that many of the fields have been abandoned and allowed to go fallow. Where Lexa says clusters of homes used to stand, they've yet to find a single one that is un-burnt or at least not totally picked over. There is no one to welcome them to a warm hearth, nor any other travelers along the rutted tracks they follow.

“Rome?” Wazeba asks Lexa as they once again examine the husk of a farmhouse, its sod walls intact but roof beams charred to cinders.

“Unless the clans are at war again,” she says darkly, “but they were united last I was here; united to fight against the empire.”

As they get closer and closer to Lexa's home and the landscape continues to reveal destruction and silence, the warrior herself grows more closed off, as though bracing for something. Claudia tries to keep her talking about pleasant memories, hoping to keep all of them feeling some sense of hope, but it's impossible to ignore the foreboding signs all around them.

The group reaches the outer farm fields of Lexa's village after a few days, and there's a tangible sense of relief when it becomes clear that they're being actively cultivated. Neat, rectangular fields dot a narrow valley that runs along a low, tree covered ridge line. Claudia can see people working to clear winter's debris and even tilling the soil, readying it for later planting. A herd of scruffy looking sheep graze along the hillside. Just across the open fields the tops of chimneys are visible, thick smoke curling into the cool air.

Lexa has them halt at the opposite treeline, tucked away in a tangle of vines between two towering oaks. It's obvious from her stiff body language that Lexa is anxious and tense. Claudia moves quietly to her side and speaks into the space in front of them both.

“What is wrong?”

Lexa sniffs. “Nothing.” Claudia casts a sidelong glance at the woman. “That is the problem.”

Longinus and the others move into a close circle around them, sensing that the conversation is important. Lexa doesn't react, but continues to speak in a low, measured tone.

“Last I left this place it was in ruins, burned to the ground by Rome during my final battle to repel them. Many of my people were slaughtered. There was nothing left. This,” she adds, gesturing with her chin toward the pastoral scene before them, “should not be here.”

“It's been a few years since you've been back, though, right?” Guidgen asks with a shrug. “They rebuilt.”

“ _Someone_ rebuilt,” Octavia interjects, and it earns a solemn nod from the Pict.

“There,” Lexa says and points carefully toward where the walls and roofs of homes are visible through the trees. “I do not know these buildings. They are not Maeatae.”  
  
“She's right,” Longinus says lowly. “Those are Roman houses. I recognize the construction style.”

“I want to get a closer look,” Lexa goes on. “There may be soldiers here, but there may also be some of my people. If there are, I want to know.”

“I'll go with you,” Longinus says. “Guidgen and Wazeba will stay here with Octavia and Claudia.”

“If we do not return by morning,” Lexa adds, “Go further north over the wall and find the leader of the Brigantes people. We were united once in our fight against Rome. They will give you sanctuary.”

Claudia feels a tightening in her chest at the thought. It would be maddening to have come so far only to be made to throw themselves at the mercy of a completely foreign people. To lose Lexa just as she's beginning to earn back some kind of trust. She shakes off the thoughts and focuses on the task at hand.

“It will not come to that,” she says flatly. “Find out what their defenses are, and if you have any people left, and then return to us. There is no use engaging with them openly, not until we have a better sense of what we're facing here. Even then, we can make plans to infiltrate, not fight. Surprise will be our best weapon in the very likely case that we're outnumbered.”

Thankfully, Lexa only nods in agreement, and Claudia returns the gesture. They lock eyes for a brief moment, and then the other woman moves to gather her things and slip out of their sheltered spot in the trees, Longinus close at her heels.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary of Terms:  
> ==============  
> "corvus oculum corvi non eruit" = a crow will not put out the eye of another crow (aka solidarity regardless of consequence or condemnation)


	13. confoedustus et hostibus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lexa discovers the fate of her people. New potential allies are found, though the truce may be a fragile one. Meanwhile, Ave's own schemes are finally starting to come to fruition, but much uncertainty remains....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for your patience! I promised I'd finish this, and by golly, I'm gonna. Expect a whole lotta action / change / and even a bit of a time jump after this chapter. We're headed into the climax of this little epic!

A slivered moon hangs low over the valley that night. Claudia can hear the gentle lowing of the herd ranging not far from the secluded spot where she and Octavia sit, waiting. The two former gladiators, Guidgen and Wazeba, are arranged to either side of them, crouching beneath the sprawl of vines with their weapons in hand, ready.

They've spent the time since Lexa and Longinus crept off to scout the village mostly in silence, everyone simply too anxious to do anything else. Claudia isn't sure how long it's been, though the moon has dropped from its initial high perch in the sky while they've sat. It hovers just above the far treeline, sending long shadows across the valley.

“Where do you think Ave is?” Octavia asks suddenly. She speaks nearly in a whisper, voice low and gravelly. Claudia tears her gaze from the distant village, where she's been scanning in earnest for the return of their people. Octavia is looking at the same place, and does not move to meet Claudia's eyes. “I mean, do you think she's all right?”

“I think if anyone can deal with trouble, it's Ave,” she answers assuredly. Octavia snorts and shakes her head, then sighs.

“Yeah,” she concedes. “I just...wonder if we'll ever see her again. I can't help but feel guilty that we sent her on such a dangerous errand, for us, and then we just left without her.”

“We left word of our leaving,” Claudia offers. She tries to sound more confident than she feels that the letter actually made it into Ave's hands. Any number of things could have gone wrong. They both know it, but neither woman is keen to address that particular elephant in the room. Octavia just nods, solemn. “Once we find Lexa's people here, we can send another messenger to let her know where we are.”

Octavia grimaces. “There are a lot of what-ifs in this plan, Claudia.”

“I know,” she concedes with a tired smile, “but it's all we can do. That and trust Ave to be her usual resourceful self.”

Just then they hear Wazeba give a quiet whistle. The entire group becomes utterly still, and Claudia feels the hairs on the back of her neck and arms stand straight up. After what seems an eternity, an answering whistle cuts through the night air, followed shortly by the figures of two people crawling silently into their hiding spot.

Longinus is the first to stand, and Octavia goes to him immediately, wrapping him in a fierce hug. Lexa follows close behind, her face covered in what looks like dried mud. It throws her wide green eyes into stark relief. Claudia observes her quietly as the couple murmur greetings to one another. The warrior woman's face is stony, focused. She stands with legs firmly planted, hands at her sides, perfectly still. A casual glance at her might trick a person into thinking Lexa utterly calm and unperturbed. Claudia knows her well enough now to know better, though. Lexa's nostrils flare with each inhale. The fingers of her right hand twitch slightly, anxious to hold a sword. And those eyes, though the signs are always fantastically subtle, betray so much. Right now, Claudia can see sadness, and rage.

“The village is under Roman control,” Longinus says, raising his voice just enough so that the whole group can hear him. Octavia takes a step back but keeps one hand pressed lightly at his side. “One noble family runs it as a supply depot. Any of Lexa's people still here are in bondage, made to work the fields or the mills, all in service of the Roman legions patrolling here.”

“How did you find this out?” Claudia asks.

“I spoke with someone I know from before,” Lexa chimes in. Claudia turns to face her, incredulous.

“You let yourself be seen?”

“Only to one I trust,” Lexa counters, her words clipped and icy. “He will not tell Rome of our presence, if that is your concern.”

Claudia swallows. It's exactly what she'd been thinking, and she can tell that Lexa is annoyed at her for doubting the loyalty of her people. She changes tack.

“I'm more concerned that, once we make our presence known, the Romans will begin interrogating your people for information. You've put that man in grave danger.”

A single raised eyebrow greets her. “They are already in grave danger, humiliated and degraded,” Lexa says evenly. “I offer some hope of liberation. My people will be ready to help when we make our attack tomorrow night.”

“ _Attack_?” Claudia practically barks out the word. She steps closer to Lexa, immediately pitching her voice low again and reigning in her emotion as best as she can. “We have four warriors, Lexa. We are vastly outnumbered.”

“I won't leave them here as _slaves_ ,” Lexa growls, her stony mask at last slipping just a little.

“I'm not saying that,” Claudia says, moving closer still to the other woman. She's careful to make her tone as reasonable and sympathetic as she can muster. It's next to impossible to talk Lexa down through yelling, and anyway, it would give away their position to anyone in the nearby village with ears. “I'm saying we aren't going to help them _right now._ We need a plan. A _real_ plan. If you rush in there now you'll get yourself and your people all slaughtered. We didn't come this far for that.” 

They're practically nose to nose now. Claudia can barely remember stepping that close, but during her short speech her feet apparently chose to back her words with the small show of dominance. Because what the Pict does respond to, she has learned, is strength— _true_ strength. Not the kind pretended at by blustering shows of cockiness and condescension, but the kind demonstrated by thoughtful plans and confident action. Sometimes, too, Lexa can be cowed by the very close proximity of a particular demanding blonde. Claudia isn't above using that still-extant sexual tension to her benefit.

Lexa takes a deep breath, letting it out again in a long, slow exhale that makes Claudia's lips tingle. She's also not above feeling some of that tension in return. Lexa's posture relaxes the slightest bit, putting a crucial extra inch of space between them.

“Fine.”

Claudia nods. “Thank you.”

Longinus steps up to them both, face calm but serious. Claudia had almost forgotten they had an audience at all and feels herself snap back to reality.

“What's the plan, then?”

Claudia and Lexa have yet to take their eyes off each other. She waits a moment for the warrior woman to say something, but when she remains silent, jaw muscles clenched, Claudia finally speaks.

“You mentioned another tribe, the Brigantes, that might be friendly to you and your cause,” she says, and is gratified to see some of the storminess pass from Lexa's face.

“They have long been allies of my people,” Lexa agrees, picking up on the idea. “Their homelands are not far from here. We could go to them and ask for help. I am sure they are eager to be rid of Rome as well.”

Longinus nods in agreement, a smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. Sensing the end of discussion and an impending move, both Wazeba and Guidgen gather themselves and stand at the ready. It's Octavia, however, who speaks next.

“Lead the way already.”

 

###

~*~

It takes their group four days of walking and searching to find the tribe. Lexa seeks out the few Picts left living in the area for information on the whereabouts of the clan's leader. She pieces together scraps of information and what she gleans through tracking, but it's still almost entirely by accident when they finally make a breakthrough.

The group walks quietly through a dense, old wood, the trees tall and thick, and a heavy carpet of verdant moss blankets nearly everything. Claudia is sure she's never seen a place so green. It feels unreal, almost magical.

They pick their way carefully over decaying stumps dotted with mushrooms, around sprawling trees with branches that bow out and over like tents, and through small, sparkling, bitingly cold streams. The air is so fresh it makes Claudia feel a little light headed, but in a pleasant, clear way. Still, she can't help but feel anxious as they navigate the strange, closed-in environment. There are so many places that a person could hide, and it feels as though the very plants are watching them closely as they go.

Lexa seems entirely untroubled by it all. In fact, she appears very much at home, her muscles for once supple and loose, instead of in her usual tense stance. She is alert, though. Claudia can tell by the way she cocks her head to listen to small sounds in the distance, sweeping her eyes over and around the forest floor and the tree tops alike. The warrior woman leads their small band with a confidence built by what must be a lifetime of exploring these very lands. Still, even Lexa is taken somewhat off guard when a single arrow slices through the air and buries itself in a mossy log directly in her path. Its black-fletched shaft shivers and then stills as they all stare at it, wide-eyed. Lexa puts her hand up to halt their progress, but Claudia notes that everyone has already stopped moving. The men drop into a defensive stance, weapons at the ready. Octavia slowly bends down to retrieve a large rock, holding it firm in one hand.

Lexa eyes the arrow closely before reaching out to pull it from the ground. Claudia holds her breath, every fiber of her being poised and ready to run at any sign of distress. But Lexa begins to lazily twirl the arrow between her fingers.

“ _Murchadh_ ,” she calls out. Claudia tries to make out the words that follow, but it's a garble of a language she still doesn't entirely understand. She susses out two or three familiar words from things Lexa has taught her about her native tongue— _yes, terrible,_ and _shit head_ to be exact, but not enough to understand what's happening. When Lexa finishes speaking, there's a moment of complete silence before a figure emerges from behind a nearby tree. 

The man drops from a low branch onto the leaf-strewn ground, landing in a crouch like a cat. His dark hair is matted but expertly plated, with small metal beads strung onto various strands. He regards them with heavy, suspicious brown eyes, almost as though he's not at all shocked to see Lexa standing there with a ragtag band of foreigners. Claudia takes in his features; strong nose and surprisingly delicate mouth, as well as his garb. It's mostly quilted cloth with a few strategic bits of leather—bracers, to match the bow and arrows he carries, and shoulder guards. His boots, too, are some kind of leather, though they look incredibly supple and make no sound as he moves. She can see the familiar snaking, dark blue lines of paint or tattoo curling up his neck and down the strong, corded muscles of his forearms.

The other man approaches them slowly, eyes scanning each one of them in turn before landing again on Lexa, who has not moved since speaking. He's no taller than she is, and built in similar fashion.

“ _Aífe_ ,” he says after coming to a stop a few paces from her. “ _'S fhada bho nach fhaca mi thu._ ”

Whatever it means, the phrase elicits a rare, if fleeting, smile from the usually stoic woman. It hits Claudia that the man has called Lexa by her true name, too. They must know one another.

Lexa offers the arrow back to their visitor, and he accepts it with a wry grin, sliding it in alongside its siblings in the quiver slung across his shoulders. They follow the exchange with a a clasping of hands to forearms, making steady eye contact as they do. It's not a warm greeting, Claudia notes, but respectful.

“Murphy _,_ these are friends,” Lexa speaks, switching to the common tongue, which the man appears to understand. “We have come a long way. I request a parlay, and succor, if you can spare it.”

He raises a single eyebrow, the slightest grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. But just as quickly, the man sketches a somewhat exaggerated bow and gestures out with one hand.

“Who am I to deny you hospitality?” he says. Lexa purses her lips and almost looks like she wants to scold him for the display, but ends on a simple nod of acceptance instead. As she starts to walk in the direction indicated by the man, he hustles to the front to lead the way. The group follows him along a barely visible path through the forest, and Claudia can sometimes see flashes of a few other figures mirroring their movements in the trees.

Before long, they come to a seemingly impenetrable wall of tree trunks, all twisted around and sometimes into one another, and rising into a thick canopy of dark leaves that nearly blot out the sun. Murphy, who Claudia assumes must be one of the clan's hunters or scouts, comes to a stop before the tangle and uses both hands to pull a cluster of saplings to the side. Behind them a narrow passageway through the tree wall becomes visible.

Octavia's eyes turn to full moons, and then a wide smile breaks across her face. She practically leaps forward into the opening, beating even Lexa to it, and Murphy laughs at her enthusiasm as she watches her pass. The rest follow in short order, with Guidgen bringing up the rear just behind Claudia. The wall of trees is several feet thick, and then she steps out into a space that's so wide open it feels temple-like. A large clearing spreads out before them, with tall trees lining it on all sides. Other trees dot its center, each with a kind of dwelling built into the very branches. Long, rope-and-plank walkways stretch between most of them, connecting each structure with an elaborate aerial highway system.

There are people all around, too; men with similarly tattooed skin, women dressed in almost identical fashion to them, several with weapons—swords and bows and clubs—and even children slung across their backs. Everyone is going about the business of their day, preparing recently caught game, tending small garden plots at the bases of several of the tree huts, mending clothes, sparring, or just lounging.

Claudia catches herself gawping and tries to reign in her expression. She doesn't want to appear rude to a people who will likely see her as an enemy. There's so much to take in, though, and all of it so utterly novel. She wonders how long these people have been living hidden in the forest. Is this how they've always existed, or did the Roman presence in their lands push them here? It seems an awfully isolated way to live.

Octavia is positively enraptured by all of it. She's already peppering an annoyed looking Lexa and a bemused looking Murphy with questions. He answers a few and ignores her entirely on others as he continues to lead them further into the village. Claudia can see the moment their presence begins to register with the others, eyes turning to regard them with suspicion, the tone of conversation changing. There are a few who clearly recognize Lexa, too, and the chatter becomes more excited still. Murphy brings them to the wide base of a tree near the center of the clearing and indicates that they should climb a series of wooden rungs lashed to its trunk. Once again, she's thankful for the switch in clothes that happened in Gaul. Ascending a tree like this would have been nearly impossible in her Roman robes.

They reach a platform that encircles that trees' structure, which appears to be one of the largest in the village. It's made of a latticework of pliant wooden poles covered over with treated animal skins, and even has a small hole where smoke from an internal fireplace curls up and out. Their guide leads them inside, and it takes a moment for Claudia's eyes to adjust to the dark interior. A metal brazier stands in one corner of the room, the fire within it casting the only light. At the other end, a throne-like chair occupies a slightly elevated spot. It's an impressive piece of work, with twisting branches carefully fashioned to create the back and arms of the seat. She notices Lexa's gaze go immediately to it, her eyes widening almost imperceptibly upon taking it in. Some unreadable look passes between her and Murphy, who laughs.

“It seemed a waste not to use it,” he says with a shrug. Murphy strolls over to and sits in the thrown, interlacing his fingers on his lap and staring out at their assembled group, face placid.

_Oh._ Claudia had been wrong about his rank. This was the leader of the Brigantes. Judging by Lexa and now Murphy, the Celts generally are a people that value traits other than brute strength or size in their leaders.

“How can I help you?” he asks, sounding almost bored. Claudia watches the wash of subtle emotions flicker over Lexa's face before the woman returns to her poise. One hand placed gently on the pommel of her sword, Lexa takes a step forward and speaks.

“I have returned from my captivity in the capitol city of Rome and at the hands of our greatest enemy to see them driven from our lands once and for all.”

This earns a raised eyebrow from Murphy, who sits upright and looks immediately more interested.

“Is that why you travel with such rabble?” he asks. Claudia feels herself bristle at the classification, but there's no real bite in the statement. She's getting the impression that Murphy just enjoys riling people up. “How do I know you aren't actually here as their prisoner, being forced to infiltrate our camp on Rome's behalf?”

“That would be quite a plan,” Octavia mutters. Before Murphy has a chance to respond, however, Lexa jumps in again.

“Have you ever known me to give a speck of ground to the Romans?”

Murphy returns his stare to his fellow Pict and grins. “No, I have not. But you did get yourself captured. I would have thought you'd go down fighting before ever allowing yourself to be taken prisoner.”

Claudia watches a snarl curl the edges of Lexa's lips, the woman's hand gripping more tightly at the handle of her sword.

“I fought until the end,” Lexa snaps. “I was knocked unconscious and taken, drugged, until we reached Rome. I sought every opportunity to escape.” Here, her voice shifts as though holding back great emotion, and Claudia can't help but feel a pang of guilt at being part of the cause of such obvious trauma. “You've never seen their city, Murphy. It is more vast and imposing than anything I could have imagined before. There was no way out but death.”

“Then why didn't you die? Save yourself from humiliation, or being used to bolster their own image?” Murphy drawls. Once again, his tone is not accusatory or even angry. He simply asks the question as though it's the most logical thing in the world, and it makes it cut all the more deeply. Claudia wants to interrupt, come to Lexa's defense somehow, but stops herself knowing anything she says will likely do more harm than good.

Lexa lets her sword hand drop loosely at her side and bows her head, eyes trained on some spot on the floor at the foot of the throne.

“I had reconciled myself to dying,” she begins, voice nearly a whisper. “They made me fight in an arena, for sport, and I thought I might get my honorable death there. But then something...happened...and I was given reason to stay alive. To keep fighting. That there might be some way still to make Rome pay for all they'd done to me and my people. If to that end alone, I resolved to stay alive.”

Murphy considers her speech for a long moment before sighing and leaning forward again, elbows resting on his knees. He looks at each of Lexa's companions in turn, snorts, and shakes his head.

“I would hear more of your sad tale,” he begins, then suddenly claps his hands and says, “Tonight, over drink and food. In private. Your...friends...will be made comfortable as well. For now.”

Lexa nods, and then ushers the group out of the structure and back into the dim light of day. Claudia grasps her lightly around her bicep, earning a sharp glare that fades quickly into a gentle seriousness.

“You will be fine,” says the Pict. “I will talk with him tonight and explain all. You will be safe until morning at least. If I can convince him of our plan, you will be safe here even longer still.”

Not entirely reassured, but lacking other options, Claudia nods in acceptance and allows herself to be led with the others back down onto solid ground. They're herded to an area where a small fire crackles away in a stone-lined pit, around which a ring of stumps has been arranged for seating. She sits with the others and watches as Lexa strides off across the village to her purpose. They're offered wooden cups filled with deliciously cool, clear water, and small bundles of dried meat and berries, all by two shy young women who can't stop staring at and giggling over the men of the group.

All around them, other villagers eye their group with a mixture of excited curiosity and open animosity, but no one other than the serving girls approach or speak to them. It feels like an uneasy truce, but Claudia will take it for now. It feels good to be surrounded by the comforting wall of forest after so much time out in the open, guessing at what might be around the next bend in the road.

Still, a persistent, gnawing anxiety works at her gut as they wait. Everything will hinge on the success—or failure—of Lexa's private discussions with Murphy. Given that he's already proven himself cunning, suspicious, and oh-so droll, she's not at all certain of any particular outcome.

 

###

 

The rain hasn't stopped for days. At least, that's what it feels like, though in reality there have been short breaks in the heavy clouds. Still, Ave watches in dismay as torrents of water cut deeper and deeper gutters into the narrow roadways outside the ludus, and turn the training grounds into a mire.

The foul weather has made it nearly impossible for her to go outside, and her injured leg has only responded with swelling and further pain.

She's certain she's losing her mind, too.

The sole benefit of being held captive by the senator is the fine food and wine he has supplied for them. Otherwise, her days are filled either by serving as pretty accessory while Rusonius entertains guests at disgustingly lavish bacchanals, fending off unwanted advances from his rich and entitled friends. Otherwise, she sits in her cramped chambers, reading whatever she can get her hands on, and waiting.

She has her secret project, too, thankfully, but it's moving at a maddeningly slow pace.

A knock at the door draws Ave from her melancholy thoughts and observation of the waterlogged streets. When she answers, a beautiful young servant called Niylah greets her with a bowed head and outstretched hands. There's a small, rolled up piece of parchment there. Ave takes it and thanks the woman, who meets her eyes only briefly and nods once before departing.

 _It's good to have friends in low places_ , she thinks wryly.

Ave sits on the narrow bed, sighing as the weight is taken off her leg, and unrolls the note.

_A fortnight and your freedom is paid for. Prepare to travel light. The elder is in prison and no longer a problem. Send word if you still have means to contact her. Destroy this when read._

_\- B_

A light, almost dizzy sensation fills Ave's body as she moves to the small brazier and drops the paper into its flames. Strange, almost, to feel any sense of hope again after so much time. Still, she tamps it down, careful not to become overexcited and careless before the thing is actually done. Blandus may have actually come through for her here, though, and the thought of finally being free of Rusonius' close watch—and perhaps even finding her friends again—is a heady one. She can't help but smile as the last bits of parchment blacken and disintegrate.

That night, as Ave lies in bed and listens to the persistent patter of rain on the roof overhead, a niggling thought keeps her awake. _Where did Blandus get the money for the bribe to set her free?_ He is neither rich nor well placed, and Ave can't help but worry that whatever means he used could lead to further trouble for them all.

_You like trouble_ , she muses.  _Yes, but generally only of my own making._ Sometimes she's sure there are two distinct voices in her head, constantly at odds with one another. She laughs soundlessly into the cool night air, and tries to shake off the undercurrent of doubt.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GLOSSARY OF TERMS  
> ============  
> * confoedustus et hostibus = Latin for "enemies and allies"  
> * 'S fhada bho nach fhaca mi thu = Scottish Gaelic for "long time no see." There is no real record of the language the Picts would have actually spoken, outside of a few names of kings, so I went with something that would have been spoken in the general vicinity a little later in time.  
> * Murchadh = Murphy, obviously (this is the old Gaelic spelling of the name where "Murphy" originates, far as I can tell)


	14. Chapter XIV: Tempus Currit De

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time passes, and time runs out: Ave's quest meets an unexpected snag, and up in Britannia the Romans are finding new roles, names, and new lives among Lexa's people. A coalition forms, a pressing threat arises, and old flames will either fuel the rebellion or destroy it before it begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, as always, for your patience. My endless apologies for the huge delay on this chapter. Life is busy as hell, what can I say? I tried to make this one a bit longer than planned to help make up for it. Also included some good ol' fan service as an offering. I'm still writing! And there's still a plan and outline to finish this little adventure, I promise.
> 
> I get to travel to Ireland next month, too, and am sure that having the opportunity to explore some of the city and countryside there will further inspire me to finish this story. :D Enjoy!

_Late Spring, 131 AD – Northwestern Gaul_

 

Everywhere there is mud. It cakes on her boots, finds its way into her hair, insinuates itself under her fingernails. The wheels of their wagon are forever becoming lodged in sudden mires or so covered in the stuff that their small party must stop and scrape them clean. The single, long-suffering mule responsible for pulling all of their meager possessions, as well as Ave herself, simply stops and gives up whenever they hit a particularly boggy portion of road.

Ave is exhausted and sore, her leg a constant source of pain, but she's honestly never felt more alive in her life.

Their little band has made it to the northernmost reaches of Gaul, and everything is so new and different and _raw._ Ave finds that she loves every moment of discovery. Even with the near constant discomfort. There are new species of tree and bush and bird, new kinds of edible plants, strange new beasts—some worth eating, others worth running from.

Blandus is not faring quite as well, though he manages a mostly stoic facade. He seems more focused than ever, in fact, though has grown more taciturn as the journey stretches on. Sometimes she misses his conversation, but these days she has Niylah to keep her company. Too, the young woman is far more enjoyable in bed than Blandus had ever been.

They took three servants with them when they left Rome. Rusonius made a suitable amount of noise about their leaving, but ultimately whatever deal Blandus had struck was enough, and they were allowed to leave without much conflict. The other two were young men, Nathan and Bryan, who had been household guards of Ave's husband. She was sure he would miss neither them nor her, and so far, given the lack of any pursuit by guards or mercenaries, she'd been correct.

Crossing the mountains had been the most difficult part of the journey, but since then they mostly only had to contend with the rain and mud. Even that was finally, blessedly beginning to give way to a beautiful season of flowers and greenery. Ave liked this country, with its grassy rolling hills and thick forests, sparkling cold streams and blooming meadows. The people were, by and large, fairly friendly toward them as they passed through tiny villages nestled in valleys and alongside rivers. It didn't hurt that they were, by every appearance, wealthy Roman travelers, and so had the appeal of bringing coin and much sought-after news to such remote parts of the provinces.

Bandits were sometimes a problem, though for Ave they were more a brief reprieve from the drudgery of the road. She found that she enjoyed the thrill of the short, intense fights that ensued between the hapless thieves and the three, trained fighters in their group. It rankled that she herself couldn't join in directly, given her lameness and lack of training, but she found other ways to help. Ave passed many hours on the road, nestled inside the small, covered part of the wagon, sharpening blades to perfection, and sometimes inventing ways of luring and trapping, using some of the goods she'd brought along from Rome. There was one, large wooden chest she left untouched, though, and did her best to ignore entirely. But its contents fairly called out to her, and there was always an itch to test its contents. That still needed to wait.

Nathan and Bryan put their backs against the rear of the wagon and Blandus urges on the mule, and with a final heave they free the conveyance from its most recent mire. The mule gives a few final bleats of protest before settling into an even walking pace, and the wagon lurches along after. Niylah sighs and settles back into her sewing while Ave rubs absently at an ache in her injured knee. She watches the two young men wipe sweat from their brows before hurrying alongside the wagon to fetch a skin of water. They smile sweetly at one another as they drink and commiserate, and Ave chuckles knowingly.

They're passing out of a hillier country and into lowlands, where the smell of salt is just becoming noticeable in the air. _Ocean._ Blandus says there's a Roman outpost not far away, where they can stay and gather information—hopefully some news of Claudia and her band. _Octavia._

She tries not to think of her friend too much, but the woman's face appears in her dreams more often than she'd care to admit. Ave misses their easy closeness, and how Octavia knows just how to push back against Ave's own stubborn and brash nature. No one else she's yet met has even come close. But she'll be damned if she moons at all obviously or publicly.

The plan was always to head north and seek out any word of the group's passing, hopefully catching up with them somewhere in Gaul. All of the Roman forts and villages and outposts they've passed through thus far, though, either have very old reports of a group matching their description passing through, or nothing at all. The only thing they've gleaned is that Claudia and her Pict went further and further north. Now her own group has come to the northernmost point, where a channel of stormy sea separates them from a land beyond the pale. If they don't find their friends at the next outpost, Ave fears they won't find them at all.

Dusk is just beginning to set in when they spot the wooden palisade that surrounds the outpost. The great gates are still open, and they pass through to the curious looks of the guards that man the walkways overhead. A centurion meets them just inside the walls, stepping into the path of the mule and wagon with a raised hand. He's a stocky man of middling height, with a smooth shaven face and darkly tanned skin.

“State your name and purpose here,” he commands. Blandus urges the mule to a stop and steps down from the seat to address the man more formally.

“I am Blandus Bruttius, traveling as escort to the lady Avecita de Luna Vittonius. We have come from the capitol to seek another group of travelers that we had hoped to find here.”

“You are well met, Blandus. And you, my lady,” the centurion says with a nod toward Ave. She offers her most charming smile in return. “What are the names of those you seek? Perhaps I may be of some assistance.”

  
“Claudia Gratidius,” Ave says from her perch in the wagon. She stands up carefully, ignoring Niylah's proffered hand up, and makes to descend. Nathan and Bryan hurriedly move to assist her, placing a step stool on the ground below. She's not too proud to ignore that, at least, and steps gingerly to the hard packed earth. “My dear friend would have been traveling with a small retinue,” she goes on. The centurion quickly moves forward to take her hand in his, landing a light kiss to the knuckles.

“My lady,” he says, rising again to face her, and clearly laying on the charm as best he can, “I am afraid we have no one by that name in our humble village just now.” Ave's heart sinks in her chest, but she does her best to remain outwardly unmoved. “You are most welcome to stay for as long as you have need, however. I will see to it that quarters are made ready for you and your slaves.”

Ave stifles a smile at the sight of Blandus coloring, frustration creasing his brow. Instead, she bows her head slightly, playing her very best gentlewoman, and meets the man's eyes.

“You are most kind, sir.”

The centurion seems to puff out his chest a bit at that. He turns and claps loudly, summoning two soldiers who come to attention with a salute. He orders them to escort Ave and her group to “suitable quarters,” as well as to provide them with whatever provisions they may require.

Though she had found life on the road interesting, Ave is not sad to find herself in comparatively lavish accommodations for the first time in such a long while. They are given a large tent, its floor covered in a thick, fresh mat of rushes. There is soft fur bedding for all five of them, and a stone hearth at one end where the two soldiers make fast work of lighting a fire.

“There is a stream that runs alongside the western wall that many of the women use for washing and bathing, if it pleases my lady,” one of the soldiers notes.

“And where do the men bathe?” asks Blandus. Instead of answering, the soldiers chuckle and share a look. “What?” he asks, incredulous, after the two men take their leave.

“Are you looking for some action, friend?” she teases. A fierce blush spreads across his cheeks as Blandus finally catches the implication.

“That's not what I meant,” he growls. Ave laughs and shrugs.

“You seek your pleasures where you may, Blandus,” she says, then smoothly changes tack before Blandus can protest. “We need to seek out whatever information is available, as soon as possible. I want to speak with the highest ranking officer here, right on down to the common folk and servants. Any news or gossip we can glean.”

“That may take awhile,” Blandus replies. “You'll need help.”

“Of course I will,” she agrees. Niylah has been watching and listening quietly from one of the bedrolls, and at a look from Ave, she rises and approaches them. “Niylah is great at gathering seeds, and you're likely to get more out of the enlisted men. We can have Bryan and Nathan go fishing among the servants, too. I will seek out the officers. Surely they won't refuse an audience with a Roman noble lady.”

They pass several days in the outpost before catching a break. It's Niylah who comes back with the news. It's evening, dusk recently having settled its blanket over the tents and palisade. The group is settling down to dinner together around a crackling fire outside their quarters. Blandus has caught rabbit and cooked it with some kind of savory glaze given as a gift by the centurion who first greeted them at the gates. So far the man has otherwise kept his distance, but Ave suspects he will only grow more solicitous the longer they stay. For now, however, she's glad to share the delicious bounty of his flirtation with her friends.

And they have become friends. Even on such long journeys, not many of the other Roman nobles Ave knows would have stooped to becoming so close with servants. But then, she's not really Roman by birth, and the insistence on social stratification has never made much sense to Ave. Best to judge people by their deeds. Bryan and Nathan have proven to be resourceful and kind, and fairly delightful conversationalists, too. Blandus is...well, Blandus. And Niylah, she hurries into the circle of firelight with a grin stretched across her face that has them all immediately taking notice.

“What happened?” Blandus asks. He hands over a trencher with bits of roasted meat on it, which the woman gratefully accepts before sitting down on a stump next to Ave.

“I spoke with some of the washerwomen who serve the soldiers,” she begins, her voice excited but pitched low so as not to bring unwanted attention. Another thing Ave appreciates about her: discretion. “They've overheard talk between the men about a band of Picts, across the channel, who have been harassing Roman outposts for some time now. Apparently the raids have gotten worse in recent months, after the arrival of an old chieftain long thought dead.”

Ave's own meal is immediately forgotten. She leans forward, landing a hand on Niylah's forearm.

“What else did they say?”

“The chieftain is a woman. They call her Aife, and say she fights like Minerva made human.”

“That sounds like Livia,” Ave says. She tries not to let her growing excitement get the better of her. It may not be them. Or Livia may have abandoned (or worse) the rest of the group before rejoining her people. There are so many possibilities, very few of them good, but still Ave can't help but feel hope bubbling inside of her.

“How would we find them without being killed first?” Blandus asks, all seriousness. Leave it to him to rain on her parade. Ave frowns and meets his eyes, but Niylah speaks first.

“We have to cross the narrow sea, and travel north along the coast for several days to get to them, in the borderlands near the new wall. Beyond that, the washerwomen didn't know anything else.”

“We'll have to impose upon our hosts for transport,” Ave says, thinking aloud. She has a sinking feeling she knows just what will be asked of her in return for such a favor, if the centurion will even allow them to go. But they _have_ to go. They've come much too far to turn back now, and this is the best lead they've yet had.

“Again I ask, how do we find these Picts without them killing us first?” Blandus interjects. “They will see us as Romans, which, as Niylah said, they seem to dislike rather actively.”

“Once we cross the channel, we could dress differently,” Nathan suggests quietly. Bryan nods around a mouthful of rabbit.

“Perhaps we find such clothing before we leave, and pack it away,” Niylah adds. “Some of the washerwomen are local to this area. I could ask them for help.”  
  
“Do that,” Ave says. “Pay them whatever they need.”

The following day, Ave finds herself at the entrance of the centurion's tent, seeking an audience. The man is more than happy to admit her, all smiles and courtesies. She ducks into the dimly lit space and then straightens again, taking in the surroundings. Animal pelts line the floor, and a single wooden cot is pushed up against one side of the tent. The centurion is seated behind a simple wooden desk, a few rolled up pieces of parchment scattered there, along with quill and ink. He's dressed in his regular armor, head bare, the crested helmet laid carefully off to the side. He stands when she makes her entrance and gives a polite bow.

“My lady, I trust you are being well cared for?”  
  
“I am, thank you,” she replies sincerely.

“Excellent. Your presence has made our humble outpost considerably less dreary.”

He's laying it on thick, she muses. That might well make things easier.

“You flatter me, sir,” she counters.

“It is you who flatters me with your radiant smile, my lady,” he says, grinning himself. “Please, how may I be of service?”

Ave barely conceals a grimace. He gestures for her to sit in the single chair that faces him across the desk. As they settle into their respective seats, Ave begins her pitch.

“As I said when we first arrived, our purpose in traveling so far north is to seek a particular group of Romans who came before. It's a matter of utmost importance, though I am afraid I am not at liberty to divulge details. You know how senators are.”  
  
“Senators? I see,” he says, clearly surprised. No harm in impressing him with a not-entirely-a-lie connection to Roman lawmakers.

“Indeed,” Ave continues. “We have word that such a group has been spotted at another outpost, across the channel in Britannia. I had hoped you might help us find a safe way to cross. We are strangers in this land, after all, and no seafarers. Your expertise and guidance would be enormously appreciated. And compensated, of course.”

He regards her curiously for a moment, thoughtfully running a hand along his jaw.

“I could spare a handful of men for such an expedition,” he says finally. “Britannia is not a safe place these days, even with Hadrian's precious wall. I would fear for your safety, my lady.”

“Your concern is appreciated,” Ave offers, working overtime to sound convincing. “My own men are more than capable, and I am sure with the help of your finely trained soldiers we will be well cared for.”

He puffs his chest out ever so slightly. “Indeed. Still, given your status, and this secretive connection to a senator, I will insist on personally accompanying you and your party to your destination. It is the least I can do, as a good Roman.”

_Damnit._ That's exactly how she didn't want this to go. Having an overly solicitous and potentially nosy Roman officer along on the trip will make their real mission ten times more difficult to accomplish. And she has no real desire to see harm come to the man.

“You are far too kind, sir,” she offers. “I couldn't possibly ask you to leave your post here, though. Your duties as commanding officer must surely supersede looking after a Roman woman of little note. You must have a trustworthy man to send in your stead?”

“Nonsense,” he rebuffs her immediately. “It would be my pleasure, and indeed my solemn duty.”

Ave holds in a deep sigh. They'll have to figure it out as they go. The general plan can still work, even if the details get a little messy. If that isn't a life lesson....

“We had hoped to leave as soon as possible,” she says. The centurion stands and bows his head slightly.

“Of course, we can depart on the morrow, if that suits my lady?”

She stands and faces him with as pleasant a smile as she can muster. “It does.”

~*~

“Fuck.”

Niylah looks up in alarm. She's been busy mending a bit of torn leather on her boot, and Ave's stormy return to their tent takes her off guard.

“What's the matter?” she asks. Ave glances around the dimly lit space, clearly in a state of agitation. They are alone. The boys have gone off to hunt game in the woods to the south of the garrison.

“Nothing is ever simple,” Ave grumbles. She sits down heavily on her cot, elbows rested on knees, looking for all the world like a frustrated child. Niylah can't help but feel a swelling of affection in her chest at the sight. She lays aside her work and moves to sit next to Ave, placing a gentle hand at the small of her back. Ave relaxes a bit and leans into the touch. “Our dutiful centurion has insisted on accompanying us. All the way to our destination,” she goes on at last. “It's going to greatly complicate things.”

“But at least he said yes to getting us there,” Niylah counters, matter-of-fact. Ave closes her eyes and nods.

“It was going to be one thing to ditch the soldier escorts once we'd crossed the channel,” Ave goes on, “but having an officer with us...we're going to have to figure out a way to get rid of him so we can make contact with the Picts without getting killed.”

“I think Blandus already has a plan,” Niylah offers. Ave's sudden turn to meet her gaze tells her that her friend was unaware of this. Interesting. “He told me he'd met with one of the officers, anyway, to arrange some kind of bribe. Or at least that's what I assumed.”

“What bribe?” Ave asked, suspicion quickly coloring her face. A creeping doubt makes Niylah question the conversation she had with Blandus. Why wouldn't he have already discussed this with Ave? He'd been short with her when she asked after a discussion she'd caught him having with one of the soldiers behind an outbuilding near the washing area.

“He said he'd arranged to have our escorts leave us as soon as we got to land, not ask questions, and report back that we'd made it safely to a Roman settlement,” she explains.

“Why didn't he tell me about it, then?” Ave says, clearly annoyed. “That's out the window now, anyway, with what the good centurion has insisted upon.”

Niylah shrugs. Ave runs a hand through her hair, still agitated, but then takes a deep breath and seems to settle. She turns to face her, dark eyes suddenly intent, and Niylah feels something stir in the pit of her stomach. She knows that look. They've got time. The boys won't be back until nightfall, most likely. Anyway, it's a surefire way to keep Ave relaxed and focused. And it's not as though she gets nothing out of it, either. She smiles knowingly, and Ave takes the invitation.

~*~

Murphy is being extra impossible today. The negotiations shouldn't have taken more than the time it took them to eat the meal provided by the local tribe, but instead things are dragging on into later afternoon, and she is, quite frankly, exhausted. And very close to throttling Murphy with the heavy wooden cudgel leaned against the seat of the warrior to her immediate right.

Of course, that will definitely end the negotiations prematurely, and no one will get what they want. Still, she needs to find a way to get Murphy to calm down and focus. It would be a lot easier if Lexa had come as the representative of the Brigantes clan instead. Even after months of living with the people who show her nothing but deference, Lexa still insists that she is of the Maeatae and therefor it wouldn't be “appropriate” for her to represent the Brigantes at councils with other tribes. Even though, as far as anyone knows, almost all of Lexa's people are dead. Even though what they're trying to do is build a coalition of clans big enough to push the Romans out of their lands for good. Even though Lexa is emerging as the clear leader of said coalition.

And so today she's stuck with Murphy—a fine enough strategist, archer, tracker, to be sure, but with the patience of a wasp. Lucky her, too, in her efforts to ingratiate herself with the people and fully cast off any Roman associations they might have with her, she's volunteered her services as a translator. She's always had a good ear for languages, and with Lexa's help, she's picked up the different Pictish dialects relatively quickly. Between that and her ability to speak the Common Tongue, it's quickly catapulted her into essential inner circle member.

It also brings her a new name. The Roman word for someone who functions as she does now—translator, note taker, writer, scribe—has become what everyone calls her instead of Claudia. It's a soft barb at her heritage, but seems to also be a term of some actual respect. Which is good, because _Claudia_ sounds entirely too Roman, and rouses suspicion among tribes who are not yet familiar with the strange blonde woman. And so she has become their “clerc,” which has in turn become _Clarke_ , given the accent of the local people. Octavia takes to it immediately. “It suits you better, anyway,” she gruffly explains. Guidgen and Wazeba don't much care what she's called. Longinus does what Octavia does.

The first time Lexa uses the name, though, is what finally pushes her over the edge into adopting it fully as her own. There is something about the way the woman's tongue clicks hard around the final consonant that makes her feel a little weak in the knees. She wants to hear it again and again.

Not that she'll ever admit that aloud. She catches herself daydreaming and blinks away the haze, focusing again on the conversation at hand. Murphy is going on about some obscure provision of a treaty to do with hunting rights in a sliver of wooded land that has long been in dispute. The chieftain of the tribe currently hosting them looks positively bored. It's time to put an end to this and get everyone home before night falls.

Clarke stands up, effectively silencing everyone at the table. A dozen pairs of curious eyes train themselves on her, and she feels the sudden urge to scream.

Instead, she speaks in their language, calmly and coolly. “The hour grows late, and I fear we have overstayed our welcome and risk abusing the good hospitality of our hosts.” Murphy opens his mouth to object, but Clarke raises a hand and stops him. “The finer details can be worked out at a later time. We have our treaty. We are all committed to working together to push back the Roman threat, end it once and for all. For the good of our people, and for our children's children.”

The chieftain nods enthusiastically and stands to meet her, a cup lifted in one hand.

“Aye, your _Clarke_ speaks true. Let us adjourn on good terms.”

She sees the fight go out of Murphy, and the tension in her own body dissipates in response. The sunken-eyed warrior gets to his feet then, and offers a wordless toast in return.

“Good,” she says, adding a note of finality. “We'll send word soon, and meet another day to smooth out the details.”

After that, it's just a matter of gathering up their people and their horses, saying a few final, almost ceremonial goodbyes, and heading off away from the sinking sun, back toward their forested home. Lexa will be pleased. Securing the support of this particular tribe has been a major provision in the larger plan, crucial to their ability to mount a serious offensive against the growing Roman garrison at the wall. These people occupy territory along a natural funnel between wooded hillsides and a fast flowing river. Any Roman force wishing to penetrate beyond a certain point will need to march through it, creating ample opportunity for an ambush.

Still, it is going to be a bloody, uphill battle. Clarke spends the ride home lost in thought and no small amount of worry, which is where her mind has spent much of its time over the past several months. She knows Rome. She knows its riches, its wealth of resources and soldiers, and its utter confidence that it is the preeminent power in the world. No band of rebellious barbarians has yet to truly best them. Mostly, when Rome makes up its mind to conquer a people, it does just that.

Then again, she's never met anyone like Lexa, and neither has Rome. The warrior woman has already begun to assemble a coalition the likes of which Britannia has not yet seen. The people respect her, and her mind for negotiation and strategy is as sharp as that of any Roman general or politician.

She has to have hope. Her life is built on impossible odds. And what, really, does she have to lose? It will be the people of this land who suffer the most if they fail. She has to think of them, and of her friends that she has dragged across the known world on this somewhat insane quest.

Their group makes it back to the forested confines of the village a few hours after dark. The way is lined with brightly burning torches and the fires of those still at supper, gathered close against the cool late spring night. Octavia and Longinus are the first to meet her as she hands her horse over to the livery man. It's clear they've spent yet another day at training with the clan warriors. They're both dressed in light sparring gear, skin still slick with sweat and smudged with dirt and grime. Octavia has a fresh bruise slowly spreading its way across her left cheek. She's positively bursting with energy, where her partner looks as serene as always, if a little worn out.

“How goes the training?” she asks as the two fall into step with her. They head toward the cluster of huts that have become their homes, at the outskirts of the village, near the tree wall.

“I bested Aonghus today at staves,” Octavia boasts. The kettle-bellied Aonghus has been both her mentor and nemesis in combat training since the band of warriors first agreed to take her in. Octavia is a keen pupil, if perhaps a touch overzealous. It sometimes leads to nights when the dark haired woman returns to their huts as though surrounded by a rumbling storm cloud, frustrated to not be improving as fast as she'd like.

“Congratulations,” Clarke offers, sincere. Longinus smiles, eyes twinkling.

“She may have also thrown dirt in his eyes,” he says. Clarke grins but drops it as soon as she sees the dark look Octavia gives her.

“I still won.”

  
“You did,” Longinus agrees, serious again. “In life-and-death situations, you use any means necessary to best a foe, especially one with superior size or strength. You did well.”  
  
That ameliorates Octavia, who cracks a proud smile and nudges him hard in the side.

“Damn right,” she grumbles. Clarke can't help but feel affection toward the two. She sees how they compliment one another, even with how different they are. Watching Octavia absolutely transform over the time they've been in Britannia alone has been especially breathtaking. The once meek if insatiably curious Roman woman, kept all her life in restraints both mental and sometimes physical, has finally been allowed to bloom. Her flower, as it turns out, is tough as hell and immensely shrewd.

Longinus has been, of course, nothing but supportive. He seems endlessly adaptable, too, which has been of great help in their efforts. Lexa quickly tapped him and the two gladiators to help work with the local warriors, to teach them Roman tactics and both learn how to fight them and incorporate them into their own, native strategies and knowledge. They hope it will be a crucial element to helping them triumph where others have failed.

“Any trouble?” she asks. They've reached the huts, and Guidgen is outside, cooking something in a large iron pot over a crackling fire. He looks up upon their arrival and gestures for the group to come and sit nearby.

Clarke sits and gratefully accepts a steaming bowl of stew. The sound of victuals being doled out summons Wazeba from inside his hut, and he joins them around the fire, tucking into his food with relish. Clarke notices an angry welt along his bare back, red and purple and bleeding here and there, and winces.

“Friend, are you hurt?”

Wazeba barely looks up from his dinner, answering around a mouthful of meat and potatoes. “From training. Not a problem.”  
  
She gives a sidelong glance at Longinus, who returns it with a look of mixed concern and resignation.

“Some of the men yet fear Wazeba,” Guidgen offers, voice gruff. “They say his black skin means he is some kind of demon or bad spirit.”

“This demon bests them too often for their liking,” Wazeba says evenly. Guidgen chuckles and nods.

“Pale people like snowflakes, melting in the slightest heat,” he adds. Clarke can't help but grin, and sees Longinus smiling into his stew as well.

“Let me treat your wound for you, friend,” Clarke says, gentle as she can. “Even if you don't suffer, I want to keep it from turning sour.” Wazeba's lack of response is as good as an acceptance of her offer. She busies herself with cleaning his wound, then applying a salve and bandage. The Brigantes medicine woman has been of immense help in introducing her to local plants and herbs that can help to prevent and even stem infection.

By the time the bowls are emptied and the group is preparing to turn in for the night, a messenger arrives, seeking Clarke.

  
“The commander would like to speak with you,” says the young girl. Lexa has recently been dubbed with the new title, a distinction from chieftain that she seems to accept. Clarke is told that it indicates Lexa's status as a leader beyond clan or tribe. Perhaps this vaunted status is what now drives her to call upon her so late in the evening, when all Clarke wants is to bed down and sleep off the day's work and long ride.

Nevertheless, she of course answers the summons. It's mostly out of a sense of duty, she tells herself, and not so much the persistent draw she still feels toward the infuriating woman.

The girl leads her to Lexa's hut, up in the treetops and always guarded now by several warriors. The commander is seated at a table, staring down at a crude map drawn on vellum. An array of tallow candles line the surface, illuminating the images there. Clarke sees immediately the deep furrow in Lexa's brow that indicates she's lost in serious thought. A thin wisp of curly hair tumbles over one eye, and Clarke can't help but find the scene terribly endearing.

_Focus_ .

The messenger quietly announces her arrival, and Lexa snaps to attention. The girl looks almost terrified for a moment at having seemingly disturbed her leader, and backs out of the room, letting the animal skin flap that covers the door close quickly behind her. Clarke stands and regards the woman with what she hopes is a placid, unconcerned affect.

Lexa sits back in her chair and returns her gaze.

“Thank you for coming,” she says. Clarke nods but does not move. Lexa lifts and hand and gestures to another chair at the other side of the table. “Please, sit.”

Clarke does as she's told. She takes in the map more fully once seated, examining the lines and illustrations that are meant to represent the territory they now occupy. She sees the lands immediately to the north and east, where the Roman garrison, and Lexa's former home, lie. There are also circles of varying sizes meant to indicate the other clans and villages in the area—those that are filled in represent people with whom they have already made treaties and brought into the coalition. Those that remain circles are work yet to be done, or stubborn holdouts. She needs Lexa to start coming with her on the negotiations. They will have much greater success, she's sure, with the legendary  _Aife_ doing the talking, rather than the cynical and cocky  _ Murchadh _ .

“Why have you called me here so late?” Clarke asks finally, after it becomes apparent Lexa has forgotten that she's the one who called this meeting. She takes some satisfaction that she's not the only one who sometimes gets distracted by the very presence of the other.  _ And yet, she will not touch me. _

“Reports,” Lexa says, sitting upright. She lays her hands on the map, pointing to where the land meets the water. “A large Roman force has crossed the channel and landed in the south. Our spies tell us they're a few days' march from the garrison, which appears to be the direction in which they're headed.”

Clarke's stomach drops. That can't be good news. 

“It's too soon,” she says, grave. “We're not ready for a major attack.”  
  
“No,” Lexa agrees. “We will need to intercept and ambush them before they reach their people and a fortified position. Here.” Lexa stabs a finger at a point on the map that is exceedingly fresh in her mind. It's the circle, still unfilled, that represents the village Clarke has just come from. “How were today's talks?”

“Good,” she answers. “The chieftain is amenable to the treaty. Though we have some small, final details to hash out. I was lucky to get us out of there before Murphy ruined the whole thing with his petty squabbles. It would be better if it were you on these trips, instead.”

“We have been over this,” Lexa counters, and Clarke interrupts.

“We have. But there is no time. If your spies are right, that's clear. We need to move quickly, and we need as many people behind us as possible. You are who the tribes respect, not Murphy. You will be able to more quickly bring all of them into the coalition, and rally the warriors when the time comes to fight. It's time you accepted your full and rightful role in this. I can see it. Everyone sees it but you, I think.”

Lexa scowls, retracting her hands to cross her arms across her chest. She looks ready to fight for a moment, but then takes a long, deep breath, and her shoulders seem to slump forward in defeat.

“You're right.” It's so quiet that at first Clarke wonders if she's hallucinated the statement. It's also very rare to get such a simple admission out of Lexa.   
  
“Thank you,” is all she can think to say in response. 

Lexa takes up a hunk of charcoal and fills in the circle on the map. Then she sits back and regards the whole drawing, pondering for a moment.

“We send word, tonight and by our fastest riders, to the clans in the southernmost lands. They should begin harrying the Romans at every opportunity. No major attacks or outright assaults. Just pick them off when one or two are vulnerable, steal from them, poison their water, burn their fields. They can ruin the roads and tracks the army might take. Anything helps.” Clarke nods and takes mental notes. They will need at least ten riders. And they will need to ride very fast. “To the clans within a days' hard ride, we must send word that all should rally their forces and converge on this village with as much haste as possible.” She points again to the village where Clarke has just visited. It would seem that their compliance could not have come a moment too soon.

“An ambush, at the point where the main force of the army must pass through in order to reach the garrison,” Clarke says, matter-of-fact. “It's a good spot. The land will make it easier to conceal our forces, and catch the main column with archers from the hills on one side, and then use the river on the other side to trap them.”  
  
“Or drown them,” Lexa adds. Clarke nods. It could work. Everything will come down to whether or not the various tribes and their leaders can coordinate well enough. If they will all take orders from Lexa.

“All right, so we move,” Clarke says, getting to her feet. She has a lot of work to do to help coordinate the efforts. So much is dependent upon timing. Before anything else can come to pass, they need to make everyone aware, and be faster than the Roman column. Lexa rises to meet her. Unexpectedly, the commander reaches across the space between them and gently takes Clarke's hand into her own.

“I am relying on you,” she says. Her voice is soft but serious. “The training your people have provided to mine has been invaluable, and I thank them. Your work. Also. Thank you.” 

The last bit comes out awkwardly, Lexa stumbling a bit over the words. Color rushes to her cheeks and suddenly the mighty commander is having a difficult time meeting the blue eyes of the other woman. Clarke feels out of sorts at the sudden shift in the dynamic. This happens more and more often now, though—a discussion of hard, dry tactics and planning becoming abruptly charged by something else entirely. She made a vow never to be the one to make a first move, though, after everything that happened in Rome. She owes Lexa that. But it is starting to drive her mad.

Lexa drops her hand and takes a step away from the table. Clarke shakes off the heavy feeling, assuming this is yet another night when she'll crawl into her bedroll and bring herself off to help relieve the tension. But as she moves to make for the doorway, a warm body suddenly intercepts her, stopping her dead in her tracks. Lexa presses herself against her, holding both of Clarke's arms hard at her sides. Her breath comes in heavy pulls, but she doesn't move to close the distance between their lips. Clarke is about to growl right into her mouth, when Lexa finally speaks.

“I'm sorry, I can't....”

It's not Clarke that interrupts the halting apology, though. Lexa stops herself by pressing her lips against Clarke's in a searing kiss. Her head spins with the sudden escalation, and the feeling of something she's wanted so much for so long finally,  _ finally  _ happening. Clarke sinks into the kiss, letting herself get caught up in the intensity, which does not ebb.

In moments, they're scrabbling at pieces of clothing, fumbling with the clasps of belts and straps, and stumbling back toward the makeshift bed strewn with furs. Clarke relishes in the feeling of Lexa's mouth on hers, the lips of the warrior woman surprisingly plush and giving. It's been far too long.

They reach the bedding, and Clarke doesn't hesitate before pushing Lexa back onto the furs. She stares with what must be a look of pure desire, because what's reflected back by the hungry stare Lexa's face is enough to near turn her groin molten. 

“Clarke.” It's almost mouthed, it's so quiet, but it comes across as a plea. Who is Clarke to deny the commander? She leans forward, Lexa catching her as they fall back onto the bed, mouths immediately crashing together yet again. 

She should be going to rouse the messengers right away, get the word out, start the machinations moving toward war. At the moment, though, Clarke can't be bothered to care about much else in the world. Just Lexa's lips, and Lexa's body, and the way the other woman moves and moans against her. The rest can wait.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GLOSSARY OF TERMS:  
> * "tempus currit de" = Latin for "running of out of time"  
> * Minerva = the Roman name for Athena, of course  
> * It was time to give Clarke her true name, and "clerc" actually is the a Latin root for the modern "clerk" - deriving from "clericus" and "cleric," in various other old languages, all denoting a scholar/someone who could read and write, etc.


End file.
